


bite me

by ak2tagawa



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Jealous Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Levi is Bad At Feelings (Shingeki no Kyojin), Levi is In Denial (Shingeki no Kyojin), Levi is So Done (Shingeki no Kyojin), Levi is Whipped (Shingeki no Kyojin), Levi is a Little Shit (Shingeki no Kyojin), Light Angst, Light-Hearted, No Smut, Original Special Operations Squad | Squad Levi, Protective Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Slow Burn, Special Operations Family, Tsundere Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ak2tagawa/pseuds/ak2tagawa
Summary: "I don't hate you, you know"You take a swing of your whiskey before inhaling the sweet summer air."Could have fooled me"You laugh wholeheartedly at his response. If Levi wasn't so focused on not cracking a smile, he might have enjoyed the sound.You hum and there's a beat of silence. "I'm glad, no one needs to know I'm going soft"This was the first he heard of this, he scoffs. "Going soft? You pushed me into a lake yesterday""And? I could have killed you"Alternatively, Lieutenant Commander of the newly-deceased Elite Vanguard gets roped into becoming a member of the Levi Squad (not that she'll ever admit it) and decides to stay just to piss off their Captain.
Relationships: Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader
Comments: 109
Kudos: 308





	1. [1] LIEUTENANT COMMANDER

You’re not sure how you got here.

Surrounded by the corpses of your comrades. Their hollow eyes and bloodied hands reaching out mockingly as if to say ‘if only you paid more attention’. Their cloaks torn and mangled, dark green muddied with the presence of blood. Their limbs wrenched from their body, scattered around you like a child’s plaything. The wings of freedom lay slain and caged, drenched in an overwhelming sense of dread. Like birds who can no longer soar, their ODM gear crushed in the cruel hands of lady fate. The grass around you was painted in a scarlet haze, wet with battle and whistling from the summer wind. The sky seemed to take no notice of your grievous frame, pouring rays of sunshine from the heavens above-- illuminating every wound, every blood spatter, every tear shed on your comrade's cadavers.

The venomous smell of death slinked up your nose and sunk its fangs in your heart. The taste of copper blood felt heavy on your tongue. The only sound you could hear was that of your own heart, a crescendo of sorts, pounding relentlessly on your rib cage. Your vision swam, tears of vermillion blood falling down the curve of your cheeks. Your hands shook before steadying, only to flutter with the slightest breeze. Your legs screamed, attempting to wrench your stature to the grass. Your own soul begged and howled as you stood in the center of the massacre, titans closing in on your position. Greeted with death and a tormenting head there was nothing you could do. And then--

_Clarity._

It was brief. One single moment of pure purpose and desire. A lustful rage that roared in your heart and cleared your vision. A sole second of conviction. If there was a god, then you would be their chosen victor. The messiah of a new age. The angel of death, violence, and god’s fury. The fragility of humanity yet the blood-thirst of a beast. You are the beauty of man and the hideousness of greed. You are mankind’s covets and their dreams. You are a raging sea and the still pond. The yin and yang materialized into one lone being. For when you blink, you are no longer surrounded by just the corpses of your comrades.

Ten, no-- _fifteen_ titans lie in your wake. Your dual blades lay shattered and dull, seared with the pungent smell of such horrid beasts. Your face is drowning in a sea of their blood, lashes kissing cheeks thick with fluids. Your hands are no longer trembling but still, veins flowing with unrestrainable fury and remorse. Your legs give out as you sit on your throne of brutality, eyes wet with tears. You didn’t know why you were crying. Why your heart gave out such powerful laments as you observed the scene around you. You didn’t know if you cried for yourself, your comrades, or even the titans.

Perhaps you cried for humanity. The funerals you must attend. The corpses you must drag back into the city. The families of the deceased. The mothers and fathers of soldiers. Your own reflection when looking in a mirror. How horrible war is. Such destructive creatures humans have become. You don’t often regret becoming a soldier, it’s only in moments like these in which you are encircled by friend and foe that you yearn for the comforts of a simple life. The humility of a family man. The humbleness of a doting wife. Alas, you know the amenity of such lives is not for those like you. Those fueled by revenge and a drive for chaos. It’s only jobs like these that are fitting for you-- fitting for someone who longs for the rush of combat and despises the empty ache of one’s heart after embarking to one too many funerals.

There was nothing quite like the feeling of picking up fallen comrade’s cloaks. The blood-soaked fabric, battered and frayed, dropping into your calloused hands. As many times as this occurred, as many times as you collected the deceased's belongings-- it always brought about the feeling of anguish. And yet, no tears were shed, no cries left your throat. You simply made your rounds, heart dropping with each glimpse of a contorted face. You blighted yourself for allowing nostalgia to take root in your mind. With every grab of a cloak, you remembered picking them up on a hot summer's evening as you all went swimming in a hot spring near Fleur Levisay’s village. You reminisced on collecting them after a long day of training, ruffling Keane Ashford’s hair as he walked by. You dwelled on the time you all danced in the rain, holding Ceil Laurent’s hand as he spun you through the puddles-- shrugging his cloak on your shoulders once the rain seeped through your garments. And now the newest addition to those memories will be presenting these same cloaks to their families, face disfigured with grief and regret, falling to your knees on their doorsteps and howling with the force of hell-fire. You knew these events would occur, just as they occurred in the past.

“Oi! You! Time to retreat!”

Tired eyes flickered to the voice in front of you but took no notice of the figure on the horse. He had no place in the affairs of your squad, the audacity to tell you to retreat nearly pulled you out of your mournful stupor. You would leave after you collected the cloaks of your squad, only then could return to the safety of the walls-- heart laced with agony and an overwhelming feeling of not being able to keep anyone safe.

“I’m speaking to you, brat”

This comment earned the click of your tongue and the complete attention of your eyes. They bored into his skull and the man was able to feel the heat of your anger searing his skin from nearly twelve feet away. Levi Ackerman took no special attention to this, choosing to observe you rather than break your challenging gaze. He studied the features of your face, the way your hair fell in untamed strands, the way your eyes narrowed when he scoffed, the five o clock shadow of your jaw which was more dirt than anything else. He took notice of the various injuries which danced upon your skin and the fashion in which your right leg dragged across the valley. Despite these abuses, your posture was tall and proud-- holding your head high as your hands clutched onto your squad’s cloaks. You couldn’t have been much younger or older than him, perhaps a year either way if any difference at all. You made no snivels or moans of pain, Levi could only hear the steady, yet labored inhale and exhale which sounded slightly too loud to be coming from your own throat.

“I won’t hesitate to leave without you”

A grunt. “Be my guest”

 _“Eh?!”_ Levi Ackerman was always quick to anger, “What the hell did you just say?”

“I don’t need your help, _Captain_. So piss off already”

You would be dumb to not know who the famed Captain Levi Ackerman was. You’ve never met him before this moment, choosing to stay out of his way due to his famous temperament. In no shape or form were you afraid of him, rather you simply didn’t get along well with cold-hearted people like him. Those with kind hearts and sunny smiles always did you much better, and yet, as you always picked them for your squad-- they always winded up dead as well. Perhaps mean spirited, self-reserved people would do you better.

As Levi snatched your wrist in a harsh manner, you decided that those people would not do you much better. In truth, you hadn’t even noticed that he dismounted his horse, eyebrows furrowed and face set in infuriation. Nor did you care, you still had cloaks to obtain and nothing would stand in the way of completing that task. Nothing _except_ Levi Ackerman.

“I’m your superior officer, _brat_ . Talk to me like that again and you won’t be making it back to the walls _alive”_

You ripped your wrist out of his grasp, before turning your back to him. Levi sighed, sounding bored with your attitude, there was an underlying tone of irritation, however, which you easily picked up. It reflected your own emotions, anger filling where misery was. Couldn’t he leave? Didn’t he threaten that moment before? What’s stopping him from fulfilling his threats?

“How do you know that I’m not _your_ superior?”

Levi blinked quickly, swiftly covering his surprise at your remark with a scowl. It took him a moment to respond and you found yourself wishing that you never wrestled back a comment at him.

“You’re out here collecting cloaks like a rookie who’s in shock. You’re not fit to be my superior”

You laughed. It was dry and humorless, entangled with melancholy tones. It was the type of laugh which started in your throat and ended up silencing another’s. It was harsh and rough, obvious signs that screaming and hysterical sobs afflicted your frame. It made your shoulders shake and your heart clench. Your tone afterward is different. Hostile, _feral_ even.

“Get off your high horse”

Before Levi can respond, you thrust the cloaks into his arms before smearing the blood on your face with the back of your hand. You both stand there for a moment, unsure of which actions to take next. You’re too tired for a fight with your commanding officer and Levi isn’t quite sure if he wants to pour you a drink for your grievances or throttle you. But with one look at that godforsaken scowl on your face, he decides on the latter.

“I should have left you here”

You're quick to bark back despite your exhaustion. “Dying here would be more agreeable than dealing with you”

You don’t see the slap coming but you certainly feel the aftermath. Your cheek stings as if scorned by fire and the involuntary tears of pain prick at the corners of your eye. Your teeth grit and press to your tongue, the taste of blood once more slips into your conscience. You haven’t turned your head yet, fists clenched and nails breaking the skin of your palms but you know you’ll be faced with the unreadable face of the captain. There's resistance in your heart and the urge to hit back fuels your movements. You raise your hand as you turn back, eyes wide in acrimony. A substantial trail of blood spills from your lips, leaving a stream of crimson over the darker maroon.

Levi raises his eyebrow, practically imploring you to attempt to strike him. You both stand like this for a moment, summer breeze ruffling your hair as rays of the light brush across your countenance. The bird’s chirp an eerily cheerful song as they fly past the surrounding trees. The flies buzz their own composition as they rub their limbs on top of the maimed carcasses around you. You lower your hand and for a moment Levi seems pleased. That is until you lift the remains of your demolished blade to his neck. You don’t have to say anything for your superior to get the message.

“Do you have a death wish, brat?” he huffs, distastefully eyeing the blood on his hand.

“It’s _Lieutenant Commander_ sir,” you snarl, “Apologize”

Levi Ackerman isn’t able to hide his confoundment as quickly as before. His lips settle in a thin-lipped glower as he blinks slowly-- as if he’s trying to understand what your words meant. You chuckle, tongue running behind your lower set of teeth. It’s a toothy grimace which you flash at him, covered in blood and spit. You seem to take no notice of his undesirable reaction at this. But he’s so nonchalant at this moment that your aggravation can’t help but grow each second. You shake your blade in a ‘please continue’ gesture, scraping his adam’s apple with the slightest jerk of your hand. Levi clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. The cloaks of your comrades drop from his hands and in the time it took you to gauge this action, his hand is wrapped firmly around your wrist-- forcing the blade to leave your fist. The next thing you know, his own pristine sword is pressed to your throat.

“Your turn, _Lieutenant Commander”_

The way your title leaves his lips is more than enough for your back to straighten, shivers shooting down your spine. His eyes are darker than they were before, his fists clenched so hard that the skin on his knuckles is bleach white. His hair falls neatly to the sides of his face, leaving you nowhere to gaze but his icy complexion. You’re not sure how long you stood like this, Levi’s blade to your throat. It could have been seconds or minutes. However much time it was, it was more than enough time to gather your wits. If you were angry before, you’re infuriated now as the cloaks of your friends seemingly sink into the terrain. How dare he raise a hand to you and then proceed to tarnish the garments of his fellow soldiers?

Spitting blood onto the face of your commanding officer is never an excellent idea. Especially when that officer is Levi Ackerman, ‘humanity's strongest soldier’. But fuck it, because you’re pissed and frankly a minute or two away from collapsing onto the valley from both your wounds and lamentations. As his hand drags across his eyes ever so slowly, you know you’re not making it back to the walls alive. It isn’t the drinking, or the fighting, or the war which will kill you-- but Levi Ackerman. This you’re sure of.

That is until the fixed footsteps of a titan makes both of your heads snap towards the source of the disturbance. If it was any other opposition, you’re positive that Levi would have slit your throat then and there before leaping into action and taking down the beast. But as it’s a large abnormal running towards your position at an alarming speed, he only has a split second to make a decision. Giving you a nasty shove to the right, you stumble back before rolling onto your back-- face pressed to the decaying corpse of Fleur Levisay.

There was composure when obtaining cloaks, there was composure when observing the dead, there was no composure, _however_ , when landing face down in the organ system of your friend. Your breath catches in your throat as you push yourself off, cool demeanor evaporation in an instant, stammering muddied words from your lips. You blink once, twice, and then five times before shaking your head almost frantically. You force back a bloodied cough and urge your eyes to look towards the immediate danger rather than the face of your comrade. And yet, you can’t. The flies buzzing in and out of her eye sockets, the flesh almost peeling off her bones, the rotten smell of bile fills your lungs. You see the strings of organs falling out from her half-eaten abdomen, intestines wrapping around shards of grass. You try to rip off her stray veins which are stuck to your face, gasping for air as you scratch at your skin.

At this moment, there is no clarity as before. There is only the crash of the titan’s corpse behind you and the feeling of raw skin being clawed at again and again and again. The buzzing in your ears comes to a full crescendo, the hammering of your heart ascending to an all-time high, the hair on your skin standing up straight before dropping like pins. Your breaths are labored and hands adorned with fresh blood, your head is spinning now as if you’ve received a blow to your neck. Your nose is wet with snot and tears threaten to fall from your dry eyes. Nimble fingers scramble to Fleur’s face, brushing back her hair and apologizing over and over. They rush over to her skin, aiming to piece her back together. They skim over her innards as if to scoop them up and rush them back inside.

It’s only when Levi’s hand lays roughly on your shoulder that you look up and pause. His face is painted with a mixture of your own blood and that of the titans. It holds no emotion nor remorse, in fact, he almost appears as vexed. He observes your features one last time, noting the desperate look of realization dawning in your eyes before it was smothered with something he couldn’t quite pick up. But as you stand up, wiping your hands on your uniform-- presenting yourself as if nothing happened, he becomes painfully aware.

You lean down a few feet ahead, gathering the cloaks in your hand, and spare him no further attention as you make your way to his horse. You don’t have to wait long as Levi stands beside you, mounting the saddle before offering you a hand. You don’t accept, pushing his foot out of the stirrup, replacing it with your own, and swinging yourself onto the horse. He clicks his tongue and urges on the animal, making the rest of your journey to the walls in utter and warmly welcomed silence.

█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃█

The next time Levi Ackerman saw you, it was clear that you were not the same soldier he met on the battlefield. You’re sitting at the bar of the mess hall, hands resting on your knees and head thrown back in laughter. It’s hard to believe you’re the same person he met three weeks earlier, covered in the blood of your friends and opposition. He remembers the empty expression in your eyes and is scorned with the duality of man.

You’re easier to observe without blood covering your features. He watches the squint of your eyes while you laugh, the stretch of your face when you smile, the way your lashes kiss scarred cheeks, and how your eyes scan over the form of your friends. He prefers you this way. Snorting and carrying on without the tears and snot racing down your face. The look of joy reflecting in your wide eyes and your hands no longer trembling as they hold onto fallen comrade’s cloaks. In every respect, he preferred you when you weren’t holding a shattered blade to his throat.

As if feeling his stare, you whip around, smile evaporating into a scowl. There are a few moments where you both just stare at one another before you shake your head and lift your hand-- flipping him off before snickering at your friends' battering to put your hand down. Levi takes it back. He didn’t prefer you in any fashion. There was one thing that didn’t change from that day, however, you’re obvious loathing of him. He slams his cup down, preparing to walk up to you and make you _wish_ you died on that battlefield before Erwin and Hange take a seat next to him, stalling his movements. Your scowl turns into an egotistical smirk that makes his fists clench. He didn’t know what happened to the fiery yet _silent_ (he puts emphasis on the silent portion) soldier from the valley but he’s sure that it's you. Levi finds himself wishing he left you there.

“The Lieutenant Commander doesn’t have a position”

It takes Levi a moment or two to recognize that Erwin is gesturing to you, who was currently pouring yourself another shot due to the lack of your better judgment. The Captain grunts in recognition, not fully understanding what the Commander is getting at.

“I’m sure you’re aware but her squad all perished in the last battle”

It seems painfully obvious to the raven-haired man in the current setting and he feels slightly regretful that he snapped at you for gathering their cloaks. Of course, at the moment, he assumed that you were collecting remnants of the unknown dead in a shaken daze-- not that of your friends, _family_ even. But as he remembers how you spit blood on his face and snapped back at him numerous times, that remorse is quickly diminished.

“She spoke at their funerals. It was quite a beautiful service” Erwin’s eyes darted over to you, now drunkenly flirting with Mobilit who seemed all too giddy to receive your attention. “I admire her resilience after losing those individuals. She’s a good leader and an even better warrior”

Levi’s patience ran on the short end of the stick. “Your _point_ , Erwin?”

“She killed twenty-two titans that day” Levi raised a brow, “Her kill streak is over one hundred”

It would be pointless to lie and say that Levi was unimpressed. Even Hange, after whining about the loss of experiments, chimed in with various praises. Scraping over _sixty_ was a feat in itself, but over _one hundred_? That was an achievement far beyond the skill of your ranking, even if it was just below Captain.

“I think she would make an excellent addition to the Levi Sq-”

 _“No”_ Levi’s response is immediate and Erwin blinks slowly, gauging his reply. Hange says something that he can’t quite understand but overall ignores them as a whole.

He recalls the appearance of despair in your eyes only to be washed over with a look of denial. He remembers the shake of your hands and how quickly they steaded when he locked your gaze. He thinks back to the way you stood tall in the opposition of death and challenged his authority. You might be a good soldier but that doesn’t mean that Levi had to take you in like some stray dog.

“I wasn’t exactly asking you, Levi”

_Fuck._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I know I said 'lighthearted' in the tags but my writing style calls for extreme duality alright. I promise after this chapter and a few issues touched in each chapter it will get more lighthearted, fluffy, romantic comedy all that good stuff. However, I think it's important to focus on the fragility of humanity and the cruel hands of war as well especially because it's such a prominent topic in Attack on Titan. 
> 
> I'm painfully aware that I cannot write Erwin's character. I know, I know ok. But overall, I don't think that Levi is too out of character-- if anything I think I did a rather good job! I'll do my best to update regularly, and I did want to clarify that this isn't following any specific timeline and I doubt I'll ever even go into season four. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'd really appreciate your comments, criticisms, and opinions!
> 
> \- Ace <3


	2. [2] SUNSHINE

The last time you weren’t the best soldier, was well- _never._

You’re used to the fawning cadets, the jealousy of your comrades, and the adoration of your bosses. You’re used to being on top. Your sheer talent at obtaining complete control of your ODM makes you more than an adequate warrior. Your reckless nature often saves skins and your knack for noticing the smaller details has earned you various free drinks. Fast heroics adorn your name. You’re a hero among those within the scout regiment and your own elite division of the vanguard.

Within the Special Operations Squad, however, you’re second best. 

When it comes to heroes, Levi Ackerman is the name to know. Hell, it's only been two weeks since your assignment and you’ve seen him rush head-on into a group of titans, clearly low on gas, and _still_ winning flawlessly-- narrowly missing the cheers of his comrades. Generations of skilled soldiers all lead to this one man, that much was obvious. As the Captain of the Levi Squad and humanity’s strongest soldier, he’s hard to beat. But _damn it_ , you’ll try. 

As the newest addition of Squad Levi, there isn’t much to dwell on. Everyone’s amicable, friendly (Oluo being a little _too_ friendly in your opinion), and more than happy to welcome you with open arms. They remind you vividly of your previous squad, so much so that you often have to correct yourself when saying their names. When you look too quickly you sometimes catch the faces of Fleur or Ciel, blinking once or twice to reveal the confused countenance of Petra and Gunther. It’s an arduous reminder of the past, one which you aren’t too keen on keeping around but you welcome the feeling of nostalgia all the same. For these soldiers are the best of the best, it would be impossible for you to lose them as easily as you lost the others, at least you _hope_ that’s the case. 

In the dead of night, you make your rounds shrouded in darkness. Occasionally you’ll catch the sulking figure of Levi, his presence overwhelming in the still of nightfall, and you make sure to walk in the opposite direction. Other times you’ll bump into Nanaba, ending up with you both sharing a cup of coffee on the stone steps of the barracks. But most of the time you walk by your lonesome. Sleep is challenging to come by these days, each flicker of your mangled comrades filling the shadows of your closed eyes. You often lay awake for hours on end, tossing and turning before staring at the ceiling. On some of these occasions, you’ll cry overwhelming, soundless tears in a mourning lament, on others you exhibit no emotion other than the empty, hollow look which conquers your eyes. It’s those days where you truly feel the worst, where you cannot weep or blubber. Nor can you drown the ache in your heart and the eloquent illustrations of what feels like Fleur’s veins on your face. When you glance in the mirror in the morning, you notice new, bloodied scratches on your cheeks. 

And when you _do_ sleep, you wake up in a fervent sweat-- a hand clamped over your mouth to keep yourself from screaming. You have to pat yourself down to make sure you're intact and check under your bed for intruders. You have to sleep with a small hunting knife clenched in your fist, hidden under your pillow. More often than not, you awake to bloody cuts skimming across your frame-- results of restless sleep and the constant turning over in bed. You check the locked door once, then twice, then a third time for good measure. Your ears are fine-tuned for the sound of agony and the yelps of horror at the sight of a titan, but they never came. And so you found yourself back in bed, repeating the cycle. In every respect, the night was not something you welcomed. 

But you were more than happy to have the smaller moments where you could hum and dance your way across the cobblestone towers on top of the barracks in the dead of night. Where there’s not a single cloud in the sky and you can count the stars on your fingertips. Those nights where the breeze is hot to the touch and the smell of summer is wet in the air. Those nights where you can listen to the chirp of a cicadas' laments and the heat thunder which surrounds you from all sides. It was these minuscule seconds of pleasure that you were grateful for. 

What you _weren’t_ grateful for is the voice of Captain Levi interrupting your well-deserved silence. 

“What the _hell_ are you doing awake, _Stray?_ ” he huffed, you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing only a foot or two away from you-- close enough to kick you straight off the roof. You didn’t hear him approach. You hate being caught off-guard. 

You scoffed at the recognition of your nickname. The minute you arrived at his office he referred to you as Erwin’s _‘stray dog’_ and as you didn’t exactly take it too your liking (a situation which may or may not has involved the broken nose of Levi Ackerman and extremely loud cursing at one in the morning), Levi decided it should stay just for his own personal amusement. At first, he began to refer to you as _‘that stray dog’_ before getting bored of such a long title and shortening it to ‘stray’. None of your other squad members dared to address you by that name, after seeing Levi’s out of shape and purple nose it was more than enough to prevent them from teasing. On one occasion (after a particularly nasty fight between you and the Captain), Levi asked you to bark-- he nearly lost three of his teeth that day. 

“I could ask you the same thing, _Captain”_

It’s his turn to scoff. In your two weeks of staying in the same barracks as the Levi Squad, you’ve never once had a confrontation with your superior during the night. Not _once_ , until now. And if it was up to you, it would be the last time as well.

 _“Hah?_ Watch your tone. I could just as easily kick you off the roof”

These icy treats and infuriated undertones were much more your speed than his. You genuinely laughed, making no effort to hide your amusement. It was a clear sound, cutting through the humidity of the night. Melodic in tone, it matched that of the cicadas. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the sky glowing vermillion. It was your favorite type of night, where the lightning strikes could be seen stretching over the vast valleys between the walls and the crashes of thunder filled your ears. You always loved storms, whether for their hostility and violence or the soft patter of rain and calmness within the eye-- you never knew the exact reason. Perhaps because there was such beauty in the disorder of the storms, a perfect reflection on your own soul. 

“Go ahead; I’d rather free-fall than spend my time talking with you” 

You feel the heavy presence of his boot on your back, pressing ever so slightly as if he’s afraid you _will_ fall off. This earns him an audible snort from yourself as your crane back your neck, smug smile licking your lips. It was so off-putting. Seeing you in this state, _that is_ , dressed in your standard uniform in the dead of night with a grin on your face that could light up a city and somber circles under your slipping eyes. He made note that you wore your ODM gear as well, head just barely snapping to the sound of any foreign noise while your hands jerked to your blades. The motions weren’t obvious, and if one wasn’t really paying attention they would have missed it; however, the Captain was all too familiar with these shifts in attention. Levi didn’t enjoy the parallel between him and yourself. You can’t find it in yourself to say something genuinely cruel. On nights like these there’s no malice in your voice, anger mellowed out with a teasing haze. You’re simply too exhausted to put genuine fury behind your words, settling for joking quips more than anything else.

“What’s stopping you? Don’t want to be responsible for my murder?”

Levi’s response is instantaneous as if he’s thought this out before. “They’d never think it was me. You’re far too annoying to limit your enemies list to one person” 

He removes his boot from your back, frowning at the sight of his footprint smudged onto your newly washed undershirt. You don’t seem to care. That only vexes him more. 

_“Ouch,_ that _really_ hurt Captain” you snicker, turning your gaze back to the scenery unfolding in front of you. You’d slap yourself for being so nonchalant and god forbid _friendly_ to your self-proclaimed rival in the morning but at the current juncture, you simply took no notice of your pestering and lighthearted attitude. A certain bolt of lighting made you jump, had you turned around, you would have seen your former do the same.

Levi clicks his tongue. “If you’re late for training tomorrow morning, I will not hesitate to drag you up here and personally throw you off” 

You roll your eyes. “How _charming_. Color me delighted” 

And with that, he leaves, muttering curses along with what sounded like your name under his breath. 

█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃█

“YOU NEARLY KILLED ME, BRAT!”

Levi Ackerman is angry. The Captain is positively _enraged_. 

You bask in the moment. It’s rare, usually, none of your bickering or muttered comments sets him off quite like this. In your month knowing him (and two weeks of joining the squad), he’s never gotten _this_ worked up. If you tried to imagine his expression prior to this event, you would have come to a loss. His actual countenance, however, is far better than what you could have come up with. A trickle of blood drips from his forehead, it’s crimson color matching the blood-lust in his eyes. You’re close enough to see the freckles which danced over the bridge of his nose and the insignificant scars which litter his complexion. His hair falls in strands all across his face and he clutches his arm in a fashion which signifies great injury. Levi’s eyes and narrowed and his lips downturned into a feral grimace. He has a finger thrust onto your chest, poking harder with each venomously spat out word. You don’t attempt to smother your delight. 

“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! I SHOULD KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!” 

The other members of the Levi Squad are standing on the branch of the great oak adjacent to you, watching this exchange with furrowed brows and nervous hands. Not one of them has ever seen their superior officer so furious and with that smirk of yours-- they know his anger will only grow. You aren’t deaf to his threats and insults, they make your fists curl and teeth grind together. But you’re well aware that acting silent and self-satisfied gets him riled up more. Levi lets out a frustrated scream that's more like a growl than anything else. 

You sigh, faux boredom written on your face. “Are you done with your _temper tantrum_ , Captain?” 

You didn’t see the kick coming, but just like the slap you sure as hell felt it. If someone told you a week ago that your commanding officer was going to kick you in knee caps, sending you plummeting off of a tree branch and left with a dislocated knee, broken hand, and concussion? You would have laughed and told them to fuck off. It’s Levi’s turn to don a complacent, but tiny grin as he watches you fumble with your ODM trying to save yourself from death by your former. He enjoys the wide-eyed look you’re making and the exuberant curses leaving your lips. He turns his back to you, no longer amused as you gain the ability to save yourself from the fall. It's a shame that this doesn’t kill you. 

As the man with the power to defeat even the toughest of enemies. Captain Levi Ackerman has quite the reputation to maintain (and a broken nose courtesy of you). He’s someone who cadets and new additions to elite squads would look up to. He’s a hero. Generations of gifted individuals spawned Levi, his talents for someone of his age was remarkable. In every respect, Levi Ackerman is perfect.

And you hated it. And _him._

Upon arriving back at the rendezvous point, hair matted with sap and twigs, blood dripping from various regions of your body, knee limp, and aching from being dragged a mile through the woods, you have no intention of pausing for a chat with your commanding officer. You’re more than aware that that _asshole_ ordered the other squad members to let you walk back with a dislocated knee, broken hand, concussion, and empty gas canisters. Your legs felt like jelly and the beating of your heart was three times the usual pace. The grimace which adorned your lips wasn’t disappearing anytime soon and the fury which swelled in your chest stung with the force of fire. Or perhaps you inhaled a couple of leaves on your journey to the ground. As you stood in the almost empty clearing, you could see the entertained stature of Levi Ackerman leaning against a titan model. With a single glance at the look on his face, you knew you were in for it. So you did what anyone in your position would do.

You ignored him. 

Levi wasn’t expecting you to walk straight past him, leaving his finger in the air and the remaining half of his sentence limp on his tongue. Nor was he expecting the stifled laughter of Petra and Eld. His anger is reframed, as well as his pure irritation with your existence. So he did what anyone in his position would do.

He stormed after you. 

You were halfway out of the clearing when Levi snatched your wrist. You immediately snapped into action and wrenched yourself from his grip before scoffing at his figure. If you asked anyone who knows you what exactly your fatal flaw is, they would all reply with the same answer. Short temper (Levi, however, could argue for more than one trait). 

_“Lieutenant Commander,_ did you not _hear me_ back there _”_ Levi seethed, eyes narrowed in animosity, “I _said_ -”

“Oh, I _heard you_ , Captain. Didn’t care to listen” 

Levi still wasn’t accustomed to your quick retorts and it took him a second to blink back to his unreadable expression. You cocked out a hip and raised a brow as if you’re challenging him. In truth, he was taken aback. No one in his time in the scouts dared to speak to him like that, knowing that more likely than not they would be met with corporal punishment. God, you ground his gears. Smashed them. Punched them. _Shattered_ them. Every time he saw that stupid, shit-eating grin of yours, he couldn’t hold back a snide remark. Your whole aura incensed him. He’d never met anyone more insufferable than you. 

_“Yeah?_ Well, that _stunt_ of yours back there? That was _astoundingly_ stupid”

You laughed. You _actually_ laughed. Levi’s patience shattered with the force of an atomic bomb.

“I’m _sorry_ \-- are you, are _you_ really lecturing me?” a snort, _“Oh my god!”_

 _“Oh my god,_ what?!” Levi snapped, his composure was running thin and he doubted his fists could clench harder than they already were. He mockingly mimicked you in the first bit of his sentence. It wasn’t very good. He made a mental note to improve on that. 

Your tone turns hostile in the blink of an eye. “You pushed _me_ out of a _fucking tree_ and made me walk back a _mile_ with a dislocated knee. And yet _you’re_ yelling at me?” You scoffed and ran a hand through your hair, “Maybe do some self-reflection, _Captain”_

The insult was well aimed by the darkening eyes of your former. By now all other members of the squad had gathered around to watch the pissing match between the two most hot-headed soldiers they’d ever met. However, you were both so involved in your own argument that you took little to no notice whatsoever. 

“Did I hurt your _feelings?_ ,” he drawls, throwing his head back in faux remorse, “Next time I’ll make sure to kill you first”

If looks could kill, Levi would be massacred in cold blood. Then he would be dismembered. And for good measure? You’d kick his skull in a couple of times to make sure he’s really dead. Levi shoved you to the left, scoffing as you stumbled and crashed to the ground before making his way to the barracks. You felt your blood boil. He was ending the quarrel here and now, but you were far from done as you got to your feet-- ignoring the screams of your wounded limbs. 

_“Yeah_ , well-- being dead would be an _upgrade_ from spending my time with _your sunny_ disposition. Too bad we don’t share _quarters_ because I’m sure you’d be _a joy_ in a smaller space. Isn’t that right, _sunshine?”_

Levi reeled around so quickly that you swear he got whiplash. He approached you at such an alarming speed that for a second the raven-haired man swore you looked scared. However, that look was swallowed up as quick as it came and was replaced with that aggravating, smug countenance. 

“What the _fuck_ did you just call me?”

His words force you into yet another barked out laugh and you push a finger onto his chest. Levi rolls his eyes before smacking it off harshly, which only fires you up further. 

“ _What?_ Don’t like the nickname? _”_

 _“No”_ he snaps, “You’ll refer to me as my _title_ , with _respect_ as my _subordinate”_

 _“Sorry,”_ You angle your jaw up higher, licking your lips “But last time _I_ checked I only use titles on people who _deserve_ them”

The insult pricks at his pride and his jaw falls slack. You’re rocking a permanent smirk as he grabs ahold of your collar, thrusting you only an inch or two away from his face. You’re so apathetic in his moment that Levi can’t help but fantasize about shutting you up. Maybe worsening your concussion would knock some sense into that egotistical head of yours. You’ve locked eyes now and Levi can’t help but notice how similar you look from when you first met. It’s the same proximity as then, if not closer, and your eyes are still brimming with abhorrence and a despairing agony of war. If anything, you look ready for battle and yet still mournful of your comrades. Moments pass but the Captain doesn’t release the hold on your collar, whether out of lack of a response or an impulse to keep you where he can easily hit you-- you’re unsure. After a minute or two of this proximity you sneer, 

“Not falling for my charms, _are you?_ You’re not my type, _sunshine”_

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but Levi kicking in your damaged knee-- forcing your legs to give out wasn’t on your ideal reaction list. It takes you a second before you scream out in anguish, punching the ground with your fist. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish before settling in a scowl. He stands above you with what you assume to be an elated expression (it’s always hard to tell) and you bite back another howl of pain. There was no way in _hell_ he was winning this argument. 

_“Is that a yes?”_

When Levi’s foot connects with the bottom of your jaw, you’re out in an instant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah! Thank you for all the kudos! I'm so thrilled people actually enjoy my writing! This chapter took an unnecessarily long time to perfect because I just could not get the dialogue correct. But at the end of all things, it did come out to my liking and I would love to believe that I wrote Levi correctly once more. I hate to say it but if you think that Levi wouldn't beat the shit out of you every time you opened your mouth, then you've come to the wrong fic. 
> 
> I do think that this chapter was a lot more light-hearted than the previous, but I also tried to include some small bits and pieces just to not allow the ideology of it all to completely escape me. Like I said previously, there's going to be no main plotline other than hating Levi so in the next chapter I'll probably skip ahead a week or three just for fun and lack of writing a severely broken hand. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your comments on the last chapter! They were extremely sweet and encouraging! And I'd love to hear your opinions, comments, and critiques for this chapter as well. Thank you again for reading!
> 
> \- Ace :)


	3. [3] MAD DOG

Receiving medical evaluations every day at the crack of dawn wasn’t your ideal method of starting the day. Nor was it something you generally enjoyed. For a warm and inviting building, the medical center felt cold and repressed. You felt the eyes of the severely wounded and grievously ill trace your form. The hands of the dead pestered your skin, chastising you for these insignificant injuries. You recalled each and every soldier you watched die here as easily as you remembered what you ate for breakfast. The air was thick and suffocating with the sour smell of blood and languish. The muffled groans of discomfort found a home in your ears. It took all you had to not hightail it immediately after stepping inside. 

The wooden floorboards creaked under your footsteps and each fidget of your fingers resonated a sharp crack of a bone through the stale atmosphere. You couldn’t swallow if you tried and your heart felt heavy. When your eyes flickered to a specific bed, you stopped dead in your tracks. The art of repressing memories never came easy to you. No matter what you did they were always in the back of your mind, watching, waiting, stalking you like prey as if to ready their pounce. They’d crept up on you in the dead of night and wrap silent, clammy hands around your throat. They’d trail one sharp claw from the base of your spinal cord to the tip of your neck. They reverberate echoes of misery through the large, vertical scar which sliced from your collarbones to the center of your ribs. In your sleep, they’d pry their chilled kisses under your flesh, reopening the wound and awaking you with a start-- ripping your shirt off in an instant. A hand unconsciously drifted to your chest, featherlight touches tracing over the aged laceration. 

“Lieutenant Commander?” 

You snapped to the voice, one hand readied where your blades would be placed before falling to your side at the lack of contact while the other was grasping the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The young cadet stumbled back at this reaction, clutching his clipboard steady to his chest. Your fighting posture disapparated in an instant and you locked your hands behind your back, apologizing and chuckling sheepishly. The nurse-in-training dismissed your actions with the wave of his hand but you could tell he was nervous. His hands were tensed and every sudden movement you made allowed his eyes to dart to your weapon. In an effort to create a more comfortable setting, you rested your hands on your knees where he could watch every tap of your fingers and the impatient rolling of your wrist. 

“What’s your name, kid?” 

The boy dropped his pen at the abrupt spur of your attention. It seemed that you had a knack for putting him on edge, you internally grimaced before adorning a soft, outwards smile. 

“Alastair Voight, ma’am” 

You told him your own name in response but allowed him to call you whatever he felt comfortable with-- which happened to be Lieutenant Commander and _ma’am_ , much to your own dismay. You sat there for a few moments discussing trivial things as he poked and prodded around your knee cap. Alastair was quite surprised to find out that you’re a talker, openly chattering on and on about your family and how many drinks it took for you to let Miche shoot an apple off your head (he missed, there’s now a bullet wound in your right shoulder). It was a pleasant surprise. More often than not, he got the gruff and silent type who brought nothing but distress into the already disagreeable ambiance of the medical ward. 

The sunlight streaming in from the windows layed a honey glaze on your features. Alastair sat close enough to notice the small divots of skin missing where scars remained and the upturn quirk of your lips. There were patches in your hair that were lighter than others, obvious brightening from long days spent beyond the walls. Bandages wrapped firmly the base of your neck as well as your left arm. Lengthy, scrawled nail marks dragged across your cheeks. Various nicks and scrapes littered your limbs and Alastair found himself wondering how you looked when you came back from battle. Your right hand was laid flat on your thigh, the center bruised with a vibrant purple and indigo, matching the massive discoloration which spanned from your mid-neck to the curves of your chin. 

The cadet wasn’t unbeknownst to the rumors floating about which were tied in with your name. You’d earned yourself quite the title after news of your challenging attitude to humanity’s strongest soldier got around. Whether or not you were aware was anyone’s guess. With what he heard about you, he wasn’t expecting _this._ A woman with a sunny countenance, sparkling eyes, and enough humorous stories to last through the night. Alastair wasn’t expecting someone who showed off her scars and lightly shoved his shoulder as if they were age-old friends. A soldier who snorted when she laughed too hard and who couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes. Yet, he couldn’t forget the way you looked when you first walked in. Demure in attitude and gently stepping across the room as if you were afraid to let your presence be known. The shake of your hands when you stalled at a certain bed, the way your palm jerked to your chest as if someone had pinched your skin. That panicked, vicious, and feral glint in your eyes when he called out your title. The rigid grip of your blade and the way you anticipated a fight. Those were the qualities of someone he assumed would earn the name _Mad Dog._ As he met your eyes, greeted with the warm and comforting tones of an older sister figure, he waved off those memories with a single blink. 

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind me asking… you know about your nickname, _right?”_ your chin rested in your palm as the nurse-in-training inspected your broken hand. The question caught you off-guard and you paused for a moment. Alastair’s nervous eyes darted up from his job, preparing to stammer out an apology for not knowing his place when he was met with an amiable chuckle. 

“ _Nickname?_ Can’t say I do, kid,” you’ve got a mischievous look in your eyes, “Unless you’re referring to what that _bastard_ calls me” 

Alastair didn’t have to ask who the ‘bastard’ in question was. 

His reply is hesitant as if you’re going to snap back. _“Do_...do you want to know?” 

“Naturally” your voice is purred in complete and utter interest. 

“They’ve been calling you Mad Dog” 

You laugh wholeheartedly and slap your thigh with your good hand. With a cheshire grin, you pause in between bouts of laughter to say things such as ‘that’s, that’s good’ and ‘variation of Stray but I’ll take it’. Alastair finds himself wishing that you got injured more often as an excuse for your luminous personality to become a frequent presence in such a drab and solemn building (he then scolds himself for such thoughts, wishing you no harm in the future). Mad Dog appears foreign on your tongue, the slickness of the word falling off with ease. You can’t tell if it’s affectionate or not but you enjoy the feeling of it all the same. It reminds you of your home back in Ragako and the sweet, silly names which your friends used to call you. It’s rather odd how your whole life you’ve been termed after dogs. From Puppy to Stray, to now Mad Dog-- it seems as if it’s fate. 

When Levi Ackerman walked through the doors of the medical ward, he wasn’t expecting to hear the boisterous tone of his Lieutenant Commander with her head back in laughter-- engaged in a seemingly delightful conversation with the cadet who was designated to treat _his_ injuries. Injuries that happened to come from the soldier with who the nurse-in-training is nearly nose to nose with. The Captain planned to come to the building earlier in an attempt to avoid you (the first time you both showed up for a checkup you threw a knife at his head and ended up getting treated for bruised ribs after), but it seems as if you had the same idea. Levi wasn’t a fan of that fact. 

It was only when humanity’s strongest soldier cleared his throat, leaning against the doorframe, that Alastair’s head shot up with a paled expression. In the forty minutes checking over all of your assorted wounds (of which you had _many_ ), the cadet had completely forgotten that _he_ was treating Levi Ackerman immediately after. You turned your head with a smile until you realized who it was. Out of the corner of his eye, the cadet could see your lips form a thin-lipped frown. 

Turning back to Alastair, you flashed a strained grin (the boy knew this wouldn’t end well). “Looks like that’s my cue to go. Thanks and I’ll see you around kid” 

“W-wait! I’m not done!” you ignored his stammering and stood up, walking to the door. 

Before you could walk past your commanding officer, he grabbed your injured wrist. He seemed to be developing a poor habit of doing so. The past in which you ripped your limb out of his grasp would have recurred if you weren’t so concerned about fracturing your bone yet again. You narrowed your eyes and hissed out in pain when he tightened his grip. _Asshole._

“You’re not done,” you raised a brow, “Let him finish” 

There wasn’t much of a choice as he began walking back to Alastair, practically dragging you behind him as you staggered your steps in an effort to break his iron restraint. If it were any other week, then Levi would have _gladly_ let you leave without obtaining a complete treatment of your injuries. Maybe you would finally pull your punches when swinging at him. _But_ the squad was going out on a reconnaissance mission on Friday and he had a duty to acknowledge your skills on the battlefield. If a fight was going to ensue, they _needed_ you to do the best you could-- even if it is with a broken hand. 

Alastair’s countenance was smothered with anxiety as the two soldiers approached, both with irritated expressions cast across their features. You seemed to have completely forgotten about the cadet now, eyes trained on Levi as if observing every twitch of his fingers and every exhale of breath. Although your former was not looking directly at you, the nurse-in-training could tell that he was doing the exact same thing, muscles tense in anticipation of a movement against him. Alastair’s eyes flickered to the large indent in the wall where your knife last struck and suddenly found it hard to swallow. There was a momentary pause as the tension in the room grew to an all-time high. Levi dropped your wrist, which you sorely shook, only to place a rough hand on your shoulder-- forcing you to sit down. 

You muttered something about how you’re more than capable of sitting down yourself before giving your hand to Alastair-- teeth bared as Levi took a seat next to you. The idea of co-existing with your commanding officer seemed both impractical and improbable. In your mind (and you’re sure his as well), it’s one or the other. Captain or Lieutenant Commander. You’ve had this vexation with authority before. Berating and scuffling with your own Lieutenant when you were just an Ensign, eventually making the poor man request a transfer. You didn’t hate the soldier. In your opinion, he was simply inadequate for his ranking as a cowardice and soft-spoken leader-- too afraid to even stand up to his Ensign. You were promoted to Lieutenant after his departure. 

And then after two years of that position, you were promoted to Lieutenant Commander (much to your irritation, as you should have been promoted to Commander-- however they continued to recognize you as a junior officer). A year passed and now you’re here, still irked by your marshal. After all, Levi was the same age as you (you learned as much after grilling Petra until she looked like she was going to cry, you bought her a drink afterward) and yet he holds the rank of a senior officer. Not to mention, when Commander Erwin approached you with an offer, you were under the impression that you would be promoted to Captain. Alas, you were stuck under the totalitarian dominion of one Levi Ackerman. 

Not that you’d ever admit it. 

When asked about your current position, you merely shrugged your shoulders before half-heartedly replying with ‘Special Operations’ as if it was the simplest job in the world. Not that many soldiers asked about your assignment that is-- they’ve heard enough of you and Levi’s bickering to make a guess. From screaming matches in the Captain’s office to boisterous remarks being exchanged in the hallway, there wasn’t a soul in the regiment who wasn’t aware of your troublesome relationship. But it wasn’t only sounds which gave them a hint. Levi commonly walked into senior officer meetings with a new black eye or bloody nose while you usually sauntered into the mess hall with a sprained wrist or split lip. And others were quick to talk about your daily visits to the infirmary. All in all, you’re highly regarded in the regiment both in combat and authority issues with your former. 

Levi shifts beside you and you know he has something to say. You can tell by the way he cranes his neck ever-so-slightly in your direction, as to not let you know that he’s looking (he’s doing a horrible job, it’s more evident then if he completely turned his head). You notice the steady flicker of his attention as if he’s preparing for some retaliation. His jaw tenses and then drops, as if debating saying anything at all. His eyes dart up to the ceiling and then down to his hands, replaying the sentences in his head. In every form, it’s annoying-- watching him nitpick over his thoughts like some flustered school-girl. You’re swift to make your vexation known, scoffing loudly. 

Your gesture reels him into an offensive tone. _“What?”_

Alastair beckons you forward, shining a flashlight in your eyes. You blink a couple of times before answering. 

“You _clearly_ have something to say” 

Levi clenches his jaw and Alastair gulps audibly. _“So?”_

 _“So,_ spit it out”

“How do you have so many goddamned injuries?” 

_“How_ ..how _do I-_ '' you laugh loudly, there's a hit of vehement in your voice, _“_ Are you seriously asking me that?”

 _“Obviously._ Or I wouldn’t have asked” 

“It’s mostly _you,_ Sunshine,” Levi grits his teeth at the nickname, “But I’m pretty clumsy as well”

 _“Shocker,”_ you shoot him a dirty look before continuing. 

“Just yesterday I was sparing with Eld and slipped in the rain, busted my lip, and ate shit”

The Captain lifts his hand to his lips in an attempt to stifle his laugh. You can’t help the upturn of your own features at his reaction-- desperately trying to maintain his hardass and overall cold demeanor. It takes a minute for you to truly gauge the moment in front of you. Levi Ackerman, the superior who pushed you out of a damn _tree_ a few weeks ago, was chuckling madly at your little story. The sunlight licked at his fair-skinned complexion, reflecting against the dark brown of his eyes. His hair was unkempt as if he just woke up, and you admired the way certain strands fell against the uplift of his cheeks as he laughed. His face is colored with a light pink and the honey waves of light emitted from the window. It’s at this moment in which you think that for just a second, _maybe_ Captain and Lieutenant can coexist. You rub a hand on the back of your neck, quickly turning your gaze to the snickering form of Alastair. 

“Wasn’t _that_ funny” 

Levi takes no heed to your words. You grumble at his continued amusement. “What’s _really_ funny is the bottle of scotch I stole from your office last night”   
  
_“Eh?”_

You ended up having to be treated for extra injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve and happy holidays everyone!!
> 
> I planned on posting this ages ago but I was pretty busy with school work and what-not so I didn't get much of a chance to write and edit the chapter over. However, after some heavy editing, I'm really pleased with this chapter even if it is slighter shorter than my previous chapters. I hope I'm not moving too fast in the story but I think that the pace is steady!! There needs to be moments where there's peace in the chaos-- the eye of the storm. 
> 
> Also, I wanted to clarify that Erwin's position absolutely slipped my mind before I was writing this and I actually forget that in the AOT universe, Commander is the highest ranking. For reference, I base all of my militaristic writing off of the United States Naval positions, therefore the ranking is in the following order. 
> 
> 1\. Admiral Erwin Smith-- for my purposes, he's still going to be called Commander but his real position falls under Admiral.  
> 2\. Captain Levi Ackerman  
> 3\. Lieutenant Commander-- this is a junior position, as you aren't exactly considered a senior officer at your age (as Levi has more experience living in the underground, he's considered a senior. If you were promoted, you would move one rank up to Commander which is the same exact position but for a senior officer.)
> 
> I do hope that brings some clarity, but if it doesn't feel free to reach out and express your confusion because I'm more than happy to help out and explain! I also plan on posting a Christmas special tomorrow but if I don't then I'm truly sorry, however, I have full intent too! As always thank you so much for reading and you're comments have actually almost brought me to a full blush with how sweet they are. Feel free to comment on your criticisms, opinions, and overall feeings. Thank you again!
> 
> Happy Holidays, Ace :)


	4. [4] RECON

Snow, like most things, is beautiful yet merciless. 

The bleach white expanse holds such unrivaled grandeur and yet the means to bring one to an inhumane end. The unique snowflakes which kiss your cheeks with icy lips and hold the power to drown your cries with a single strong gust of wind. The way it melts in your hand and leaves the burn of such an element that can massacre thousands if they willed it. How simple it seems when it disappears on your tongue. How cruel when it buries men in a fevered frenzy. 

Born in Ragako, a village far in the South, you never obtained many opportunities that allowed you to become acquainted with the frigid temperatures of the Northern territories. The lowest temperature you can recall was around fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit and then when you enlisted into the cadet corps, it dropped to a meager forty-five degrees. Compared to the sub-zero of the Northern mountain regions, forty-five felt like a sauna. You would be more than happy to train in the green terrain with slightly chilly weather than continue your recon mission, trudging through thigh-high snow in the middle of the night-- with nothing but lanterns to provide you heat. 

The scout regiment’s winter uniforms weren’t anything to be elated about. They served as thirty pounds of extra luggage to be added to the twenty-pound packs which each member carried on their backs. Designed to conserve heat, more often than not, they failed at their designation. The wind managed to slip into the small cracks of exposed skin from the back of your neck to the sliver of your ankles. From the minuscule opening on your wrist to blinking your eyes just a fraction too wide. You and the other members of the Levi Squad are shivering under the sherpa coats, desperately rubbing clothed hands together. The gloves didn’t provide much warmth as they were all quite soaked through from the consistent falls of each soldier as well as the ever-growing snowstorm that was biting at your naked flesh. 

You walked in the back of the group, unconfident in your advances and ploys. They never taught you winter training in your time at the cadet corps. And throughout your various assignments, you never had a reason to travel up North. Therefore, you were just about clueless when it came to this environment-- expecting titans to pop out of snow piles like jack-in-the-boxes. You curse your instructor for failing to teach the basics of wintertime survival, perhaps if he did you wouldn’t have gotten your face nearly kicked in for narrowly avoiding hypothermia at the base camp as well as asking what Levi Ackerman considered to be ‘self-evident’ and ‘idiotic’ questions.

The snow lapped at your legs through the thick fabric of your pants, biting and burning through your membrane as if seeping into your very veins. You make a point to wiggle your toes every once in a while, making sure they’re still intact and pick your feet up just a bit higher as if to relieve some of the bitter frost. The wind whipped at your face, ripping tears from your eyes which crystallized like small diamonds on your cheeks and stuck chunks of ice onto your onyx lashes. It was a miracle you could see through the blinding hysteria of mother nature, each outline of your comrades becoming thinner and thinner. Blurrier and blurrier. Further and further. But yet, still present in your line of view. The gales howled like packs of wolves circling their prey, growing closer and closer before pouncing with opened mouths. The noise suffused your ears, leaving them victim to the silence of the storm. It wasn’t silent, you knew that. And yet the world around you was muffled in a closed-off haze. The only thing that wasn’t suffocated by the surrounding storm was the torment of the inclement weather on your stature. 

The snow seemed to fall slower, moving so-very-leisurely that you could catch every crack and crevice on its form. Every shard of ice and unique pattern. Every twitch from the wind and tremor from your chilled breath. You could bring up a hand to grasp it as it drifted sluggishly into your hand, it felt intense. Powerful. Frightening. You blinked and the world was at its usual pace, snow dropping from the heavens quicker than you could catch and wind roaring in your ears. How alluring. How  _ terrifying.  _

Then, you continued your trek to the outpost-- following the miniature silhouettes of who you hoped was your fellow squad members. You could feel the presence of eyes on the back of your neck, watching your every move and shiver. Every blink and shallow inhale. Every frozen, raw scorch from the back of your throat. Every hair is raised on your arms. Common sense dictates that there was no one there. Mother nature dictates that they would be dead by now as no one but well-trained soldiers would survive this storm. Perhaps it was no man nor beast at all, but the steady eyes of the elements. Each snowflake hovering over your every move. You couldn’t shake the feeling. It brought about the stammering of your heart and the urge to run as fast as you could to the safety of your friends. The paralyzing fear of turning around only to be met with the bleak wasteland of ice and snow and perhaps the deep, dark void of the night. However, you could not turn around nor run-- so you simply journeyed on, the anxious feeling of paranoia laboring in your heart as well as the awe-stricken gaze of someone who’s touched snow for the first occasion. 

Forty minutes later, you reached the outpost. It was warmly welcomed and your comrades (who were nearly fifteen minutes ahead of you) were ecstatic to see that you didn’t succumb to the snow (well, most of them). The building was a homey type of log-cabin, adorned with rugs and enough blankets to wrap around every child in Wall Sina. Large lanterns hung from the ceiling of the room and rocked over various cots and tables. A massive fireplace sat on the left-hand side, flames dancing invitingly. All in all, the outpost is small yet so delightfully warm. 

As you made your way to the fire, the blaze hurt more than the snow itself as it heated your raw limbs. Locked away from the prying eyes of the tempest, you allowed yourself a moment of peace. 

Eld, Gunther, and Oluo were sprawled out by the fire, indecently dressed in nothing but their undergarments-- the remainder of their uniforms thrown onto one of the cots. Petra and Levi sat at a small table in the right corner of the main room, looking far more civilized than the other three. Not to mention dressed in their respective uniforms. Everyone’s cheeks were flushed and dusted red with pale complexions that matched that of a ghost’s. Their hair damp and veins bright. Kissed by the frozen expanse just outside the door. 

Shrugging off your coat, you began to undress--relieved to escape the burdensome, sodden accessories of your uniform. You could practically feel Petra’s eyes widen as you flopped down next to the three men, skin adorned with only your chest wrappings and underwear. Besides a choking noise from Oluo, there were no comments, no sexualization, no meandering eyes. You sighed contently next to your friends, more than pleased to be greeted with such amiable persons who treated you as a soldier rather than a sex object. It was an ardently welcomed change to the actions of many others within the regiment. You rolled over to your back, arms cradling your head and eyes closed before stretching your spine and then relaxing your frame. 

Eld smiled at the motion. He’s overjoyed with the thought that you trusted the men enough to lie next to the nearly naked, completely unprepared for combat or the off chance that one of them might get too handsy. You  _ easily _ trusted them, despite situations in your past (he heard stories of you breaking men’s arms who became overly touchy or engrossed in your behavior). The notion itself was enough for Eld to consider you braver than any other soldier he had ever met. His eyes flicked to the gargantuan scar across your chest, but he’s quick to recoil-- after all, it would be rather rude to ask either indirectly or directly. 

“Thought you died out there, Mad Dog” 

You hummed in response, the small upturn of your lips forcing the other three to do the same. 

“The Captain was about to go look for you” 

You cracked an eye, the smile warped into a smirk.  _ “Was _ he now” 

You tilted your head back to shoot a look at the man who was already scowling at your form. With one glance at your expression, Levi knew you were going to push your luck. He should have given you more than a bruised spinal cord when you bickered in the infirmary, he’s sure of it. Much to his surprise, you didn’t bark out some cruel remark trying to shatter his patience. Instead, you turned back to Eld and muttered something which made all four of you burst out laughing. Petra beamed at the scene. 

You were close to Eld, Gunter, and Oluo. Much closer than you were to Petra or Levi. Perhaps because they always dragged you into their schemes. Or maybe because they ruffled your hair and slapped you on the back. Or because they snort when they laugh too hard or jokingly threaten to lock you in Levi’s office when you make a jest at one of them. They remind you so strongly of family that it’s hard to not become nostalgic for the past. It’s the tiny quirks they have which has earned your friendship. The way Eld will always wait by your barracks door in the morning to walk you out to training, commenting sarcastically on how excited you must be to get your ass kicked by the Captain for waking up so early (in reality, he’s the one who pressed for the crack of dawn, much to your dismay). The way Gunther will invite you onto his senseless plans, landing the both of you sprinting down the hallway with bottles from Levi’s personal stash of liquor. The way Oluo always commended you with ‘keep it up and you might be as good as me one day’ after training, you knew he was saying good job in his own special designation even though he’d never outwardly admitted it. 

It’s the way you would all throw your arms around one another after a night of drinking. And the way you’ll all sit on the stone steps and stare up at the stars (Gunther knows much of astrology and commonly points out various constellations and planets-- he says you remind him most vividly of Aries, whatever that means). You’re sentimental with the inside jokes and each hint of a smile on their lips. The tap of your knuckles three times on each other’s shoulders, your own silent language. The way you have to slap a hand over your mouth when Eld makes a face at Levi’s lectures, inciting a rowdy reaction from the rest of you. 

Of course, you were fond of Petra as well. As the only other woman on the squad, you enjoyed her company in earnest. She’s a good soldier and an even better friend, fretting over you with the manner of an older sister. You drink together and exchange light-hearted stories. She brushes your hair when it gets too unruly for the likes of your patience and helps with your ODM after one too many mishaps with the gears. She listens to you rage about whatever Levi did to piss you off so much that day and offer tiny nods to your berations. Petra tends to your wounds and holds your hand when applying medicine to the gashes. She’s quick to flash you a smile and share out every desire of her heart. Yet, she’s well aware that she will never be as close to you as the other three men. Petra lacks the addiction of combat and the swift, teasing retorts. She lacks the surge of masculinity and the drive to outdo one another. She isn’t overly fond of mean remarks and hard punches. Petra doesn’t fit in as well as you do with ‘your’ boys. A small fracture of her is bothered by it. So helplessly irritated with how easy it is for you to become the apple of each of their eyes. Jealous that after all this time she isn’t even close to the level of familiarity that you have obtained with just barely a month and a half. 

But she can’t act out on her bitter feelings when you grin at her like she’s the only one who understands. Petra can’t bear to think negatively of you when you address her as ‘big sis’ and flop down in her quarters-- noisily noting each and every way you hated training that day. How you only told her of your love for the sea and desire to see snow for the very first time. How you reminisce on memories of your previous squad, not daring to spill these stories in front of the likes of the men. How Petra is the only one who knows exactly how you like your tea, what shade of green is your favorite (it’s the color of well-maintained grass in the summer, she makes mental notes to purchase special green garments just for you), your childhood dream of becoming a doctor, the brand of perfume you love smelling, and even the names of every family member back in Ragako. So perhaps, Petra is wrong about your closeness with the others. As you shoot her a daring smile, her worries fall to rest. 

In regards to your relationship with Levi, there isn’t much to be told. It’s better summed up with punching and kicking more than anything else. There are slight moments of peace, however, when the night is filled with the hums of laughter and you can feel a small smile building up. Of course, whenever you do get the urge to smile at the man, you don’t (for obvious reasons, you have a reputation to keep up)-- but Levi seems to always catch the slightest upturn of your lips. And of course, there are times when he’ll snicker at your stories and you sit there in awe, jaw falling slack to the floor (after all, who knew he could laugh). But then he’ll snap some witty comment about flies making a home in your mouth and you’ll revert right back to forking your dinner and thinking of different ways to kill your commanding officer. All in all, the medical wing has some unfavorable nicknames for you both. 

With these relationships, there are times where you feel so awfully conflicted as if you’re betraying your previous comrades in enjoying another’s company. It’s excessively culpable, flashing back to similar moments with Ciel and Fleur and having to blink once, twice, then three times to flash back to the present. How abhorrent of you to be laughing and carrying on while their corpses rot in their wooden coffins, turning in their graves. How dastardly cruel of you to feel overjoyed with the connection which you’ve had only once before. The connection should have stayed with your own squad. You should have stayed with them. It’s easy enough to push these thoughts away in the reflection of the day but at night they return, slinking back into your brain. Cursing you and wrapping thin, clawed hands around your throat. Sliding down to your collarbones and nimbly tracing over the aged scar which resides on your chest. Slitting each and every faded wound with a single callous word. 

_ ‘Traitor’ _

█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃█

It’s on the final night of the recon mission and tensions are at an all-time low. 

You’re gleefully dancing across the cabin floor, hand in hand with Eld, while simultaneously singing that one tune that you’re dreadfully fond of. The one you sing loudly in the shower, during both training and missions, and even when you sleep (your voice is ever-so-lovely, Levi wishes you became a singer  _ instead _ of a soldier). The Captain once even caught  _ himself  _ humming it before nearly slamming his head through his desk at the realization. And here you are, singing it once again as Eld spins you in front of the fire and you jump from cot to cot. The amiable atmosphere has slinked its way into each and every soldier's heart, even lifting a softened smile from Levi himself. In the small, warm cabin in the middle of a winter nightmare-- the Levi Squad finally earns a chance to relax. 

Eld is singing painfully off-key as you both jump around the room, earning the rhythmic claps of Petra and Gunter to the sound of your voices. It’s shocking you much energy you have after a full day of journeying through the aftermaths of another blizzard. If it was any other night, you would have called it a day and flopped onto your cot to stare at the ceiling and rest your aching muscles. But it was the last night of the reconnaissance. And tomorrow you would finally be able to return to the vast green fields of the territory near and within the walls. That in itself was cause for more than one dance. 

Eld drops his hands from your waist to his knees and pants, laughingly, in front of the fire. You stretch your back, tired grin toying with your lips. The soft chatter of the others makes a home in your ears as you lean forward, placing your weight on your partner’s back. Moments like these don’t come by too often. They’re rare and more often than not they speed by with a single blink. But this moment in specific must be your favorite. The flickering of warm and golden hues from the swaying lanterns drown each member’s smiling countenance. The pop and crackle of the fire. The clink of each coffee mug, filled to the brim with whiskey. The hiccups from Oluo and Petra’s stifled giggles. The way Eld’s touch burns your skin and brings about such a deep feeling of joy. Gunther’s oversized dress shirt which just barely touches your midthigh and the way he whistled teasingly when you walked out from the outhouse in only that garment. Levi’s ever appreciated silence on the matter, turning a blind eye to all your drunken antics. 

It’s only after your fourth dance with Gunther (after three more with Eld, six with Oluo, and just one with Petra) that you find yourself sitting on the cold wooden supports of the cabin porch. It’s absolutely freezing, the bitter cold biting and lashing out on every scrap of naked flesh. Your bare feet are sunken in the snow, twitching unwillingly as the minutes pass by. Tiny, frozen needles seem to poke into the bottom of your feet. Stabbing once, twice, then a hundred times over-- leaving an agonizing ache. The wind leaves its own injurious breath on your forearms and legs. Leaving your body trembling fervently in the dark of night. Without the swirling ice and snow of the tempest, you feel at ease. No eyes are watching you nor does the pressure of falling last in place weigh down on your shoulders. The pain of the cold is harrowing, but the experience in itself is  _ thrilling.  _

Each cut of the element is new within itself. Differing from the unpleasant sting of sunburn from Ragako and the tedious strain of your muscles from the cadet corps. It’s breathtaking to have such a force at your fingertips. So incredibly, strong. You’d like to imagine the feeling the same as when you lit your first cigarette (first  _ and _ last, your mother made sure of that). The excitement of having something so dominant between your fingers. The flicker of heat and then the coughing fit which comes after. Holding something in your hands that has the ability to kill you slowly over time, unbeknownst to your own ideologies. The bleach white expanse is as addictive as nicotine and as forceful as the tar.

“Have you lost your damn mind, brat?” 

The algific voice of your commanding officer is even icier than the snow. You jump at the sound, cursing under your breath. You hate it when he sneaks up on you. You find yourself thinking that quite often. The silence between you and the Captain is heavy, contrasting deeply to the loud chatter of your friends echoing through the thick walls of the outpost. You don’t respond, staring up at the twinkling stars-- fading in and out of the night sky. Levi clicks his tongue and you can tell by the sound that he’s leaning up against the cabin, glowering down at you. You imagine his insufferable expression and scowl. 

“Aren’t you freezing?” 

You shrug your shoulders, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a truthful answer. _ “No”  _

Levi wasn’t impressed with your obvious lie. Especially when you were shaking so violently that one would think you were being electrocuted. If you were stupid enough to sit outside in the sub-zero temperatures, then you could certainly face the consequences as well. The Captain would be  _ more _ than happy to leave you here to suffer hypothermia and freeze to death. It would solve one of his many problems. However, you were _ his _ Lieutenant Commander.  _ His  _ responsibility. And another one of Petra’s demeaning lectures about severely maiming you or leaving you for dead wasn’t exactly something he wanted to experience.

“You’re an idiot” 

A moment later, he dropped his coat on your head. Thoroughly amused at your sound of protest and the swift movements to wrestle it off your head and keep it from obstructing your vision, which of course would have been possible if not for your superior keeping a heavy palm on your head. After several mean retorts and rambunctious cussing, you shrugged the jacket over your shoulders and scoffed loudly. It didn’t help much, the last of the heat from Levi’s own body lost in the struggle. The gesture warmed you more than the jacket itself did. 

It smelled like your favorite brand of tea (it became your favorite after you nabbed one or two of Levi’s personal brew) and the atmosphere of the outdoors. It,  _ and your superior _ , smelled like those summer days where thunderstorms are just about to rumble in. Those nights where the cicadas are loud and the stars burn brighter than ever before. He smelled like both the calm before the storm and the aftermath. The color green. The fabric seared your skin with the weight of his action. You’re quick to turn with a teasing smirk and response.

“Are you _ drunk, _ Captain?” 

But all that’s left is the shutting door of the outpost and the deafening silence of the night. You turn back to the stars and snow, a newfound warmth within your body. You don’t make a move to smother your smile. 

Maybe Captain Levi Ackerman wasn’t a complete bastard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all ignore the part where I said this would be posted on Christmas. Anyway, happy new year!! Here's your belated holiday gift which was supposed to be written and posted on Christmas. However, I've rewritten this around seven times, so I cannot be held completely accountable for the late posting. Naturally, my dialogue had to be perfect and in the end-- Levi barely speaks. 
> 
> I love this chapter solely because I'm a huge sucker for Levi Squad interactions, I've been dying to header deeper into your relationship with every member and this was pretty much my excuse to write them all and what I believe they would be doing in their time in the regiment. 
> 
> On another note, I understand the temperature thing may be very drastic but as someone who lives in New York, where it's sixty one in one region and below zero in another-- it's easy for me to comprehend weather some exaggerated. 
> 
> I hope I did Levi and every character justice in this one as well (per usual). I absolutely adore every comment I receive, they're all so sweet, I don't deserve such praise. Thank you so, so much for reading and commenting. As always I encourage you all to leave criticisms, opinions, overall feelings, and reactions in the comments. Thank you!
> 
> Happy (belated) new year!
> 
> \- Ace


	5. [5] VANGUARD

It turns out that Captain Levi Ackerman  _ is _ a complete bastard.

“What the _ fuck _ is this?” 

You slam your palm down onto the table, knocking off his cup of tea. It shatters on the floor, leaving every soldier in the room to look your way. Underneath your flesh is the battle format for the upcoming expedition, crumpled and berated with the force of your fury. Levi Ackerman doesn’t have to glance upwards to know you're pissed. He can hear your foot tapping impatiently on the floor, the way your fingers tense and then relax, your breathing is labored. He’s known you long enough to know your cues. The past two and a half months since your assignment has given him time to pick up your various tells. But this, however, was different from your other moods. Different from your anger when he kicked you out of that tree. Different from when he locked you out of the outpost. Different from when he slapped you across the face. Different from every single occasion in which you released your emotions onto him. When Levi looked to your face, the change was apparent. 

Your eyes were wide in acrimony, twitching with his lack of response. They looked bloodshot as if you’d been crying, the skin around them puffy and vermillion. Your pupils nearly engrossed your entire iris, appearing that all of your humanity diminished in the blink of an eye. They held the bloodlust and animalistic qualities which you only obtained when you were about to commit the final blow on a titan. They looked as if they could seep blood or draw flames. He saw the vulnerability of a war trodden soldier and yet the fury of an untamed soul. It’s clear as to why your name is feared on the battlefield.

“A battle plan-” 

You cut him off, impatient. “Yeah, some  _ fucking plan _ . Why the  _ fuck _ am I in the  _ vanguard?!” _

For perhaps one of the only moments in his life, the Captain is afraid. It was a disparate type of fear, one which contrasted from the fear of being caught stealing in the Underground or the terrifying aspects of war. This was distinctive in its own way. He couldn’t explain it if he tried. It was the venomous snake of anxiety which writhed in his stomach only to slither it’s way up his throat, stalling both his breath and explanations. 

_ “Stray,”  _

“Don’t fucking  _ Stray _ me. Don’t give me any of that goddamned _ bullshit! _ Tell me why I’m not with my own  _ fucking squad!”  _

In the seconds before he responds, you’re all over the place. Another tell for your true, unadulterated rage. A hand in your hair, brought down to cross your arms, then thrown in the air before scratching at your face. Pacing footsteps which run back and forth in front of his table, impatient in his response. Your eyes dart from your own hands to Levi’s expression, trying to read his words before he says them. Your tongue licks behind your bottom teeth only to then skate over the top set. Your eyes roll every couple of pauses as if you cannot control your features. You’re on display in your animosity, every soldier watching this outburst with interested eyes. 

Levi Ackerman knew this would happen. He knew that the second you learned of your placement as Lieutenant Commander of the Elite Vanguard rather than Lieutenant Commander of the Special Operations Squad, you would search hell and back to find him and probably attempt to beat the shit out of him. At most he expected a few mean quips, then your usual scoffing and rolling of your eyes. Perhaps a punch or two (which Levi would allow,  _ after all _ he removed you from your own squadron) and then a huffy disposition for the next week. Maybe you would skip training for a day or two and then get one,  _ exceptionally mean _ comment out and blink back to normal. In every respect, he wasn’t expecting  _ this.  _

“They need a squadron leader. You’re best for the job.”

You laugh dryly at what you assumed to be a form of flattery. It’s devoid of humor.  _ “No _ . If  _ I  _ was best for the job I would be Lieutenant Commander of the Elite Vanguard. But I’m  _ not, _ am I?” 

Levi scowls before opening his mouth to retort back some half-assed explanation. You’re quick to cut him off once again. 

_ “Shut the fuck up. I don’t… _ I don’ _ t _ know  _ what _ I expected,” you shrug to yourself, chuckling uncontrollably, “Because the  _ second your _ stray dog barks at your heels, it’s-it’s  _ fuck all, right?!”  _

“You’re making a  _ scene-”  _

You rear back your head, shoving a finger in his face. 

“Oh _ fuck you _ . I mean it,  _ fuck you, Levi. _ Because it’s always fuck me over. Haven’t you heard that you shouldn’t let in a  _ stray dog _ with no intention of  _ fucking keeping it?!” _

There’s a momentary pause and the Captain can feel his blood boil. Not only are you humiliating him, but the scout regiment as a whole. He stands and watches as you sway back and forth, gesturing wildly with your hands as if to convey your fury in some other format. Your head is thrown back in humorless laughter, snapping your eyes to every face in the room before retreating back to his own. Levi’s tone is cold and vexed, steel eyes locking with your own feral orbs. 

_ “What, _ do you want back into the squad? Is  _ that _ why you’re throwing this  _ tantrum?” _ He doesn’t wait for a response, “Then _ fine! _ Here, you’re back  _ fucking in _ . _ Sit the fuck down” _

His outburst makes you take a step back, only for you to take two forwards-- knocking into the table. In all honesty, you don’t know  _ why  _ exactly you came to pick a fight. Perhaps to let your anger known. Perhaps to guilt trip your superior. Perhaps you just needed an emotional release. You blink rapidly at his words, offended at his conjecture. Your next words are contentious and filled to the brim with more enmity than you thought to be humanly possible. Your hands are trembling, foot bucking the wooden panels. Your lips are warped into a toothy snarl that shifts between a scowl and malicious smile. Your fists are clenched and one jerked movement from gripping your blades. Underneath the rage, there’s hurt. There’s the pain of a broken sense of unity. It’s not like you and the Captain began getting along, per say, but there was an unspoken level of trust between squad members. One that laid broken and bruised with the battle plan of Levi’s own construction.

“Do you think I’m some _ fucking dog  _ that follows your every beck and call? I’m not going to _ sit down. _ And if you’re _ all  _ for throwing your Lieutenant Commander to the _ goddamn wolves  _ then I don’t want back into the squad either. I’ll lead the fucking vanguard but _ their death’s _ are on you, Levi”

“They won’t die if  _ you _ do your _ goddamned job”  _

A flash of hurt flickers across your face before corrupting into something desperately inhumane as you raise your hand as if to strike him. If Levi was paying more attention, he would have caught the way the hair on the back of his neck stood straight and how his heart lodged in his throat-- providing a heavy pressure onto his chest. The soldier would have noticed how he stammered a step or two back before reaching a hand out protectively to his side. Levi Ackerman was readying himself for battle with a titan unconsciously, watching your bestial countenance in a manner that you could only describe as both hatred and an intense fear. There was something so wild in your eyes, something that told him you would do anything in this moment. In the back of his mind he calculated the seconds it would take for you to leap across the table, the time for you to grip your own blades. He took another step back slowly, as if backing away from a wounded creature. You blinked, slowly,  _ madly. _

“Get off your high  _ fucking _ horse”

Levi’s hands snap to his blades, duly reminded of your first meeting. You seem to not take any heed, taking another step forward and ramming into the table once more only to slam down your palms. The scene unfolding before the soldiers was one not unlike predator and prey. You, hunched over the table, hands gripping the wood as if your life depended on it.. Your eyes were narrowed, darkened as if filled with otherworldly intentions. Your lips parted and teeth biting down so hard it drew blood which nearly dribbled down your chin. You snicker, dropping your head before yanking it back up a second later-- startling your former and forcing him to take another couple steps backwards.

“Don’t give me any of that glorified  _ bullshit. _ ” a pause, “Captain _ fucking _ Levi.  _ Can you believe it? _ You’re nothing but a  _ liar  _ and worshipped  _ coward _ ” 

Your words cut deep based on the shift of expression on his face. He’s been a soldier too long to be insulted, he faced such mockery that placed no-where close to your remarks. Yet there's an agonizing sting in his chest, hearing these declarations from his own squad member hurts more than something said by a stranger. However, he’s sure that it would impair him with a much greater effect if Petra or Eld said something like this. But it’s you-- someone who has made their loathing for him apparent since the very first second you saw him. The hole in his heart is replaced with guttural fury, drawing his blade-- prepared for a fight. But your hostile expression falls as you straighten your back with a twitch of your eyes. You run a hand through your hair with a click of your tongue. The rancor atmosphere evaporates as quick as it came, replaced with only simmering tension. When you meet Levi’s eyes, you look tired rather than rabid. It seems as if the last of your ill will left with your venomous words. 

You sigh. It’s long and low, uttering tones of both vexation and exhaustion. He knows what it conveys and he’s well aware that you know you don’t have to say it out loud. You’re sore from the punches and so is Levi. You’re exhausted from the trips to the medical word and tired of the dirty looks from the nurses. As much as you would love to lay your superior out, you  _ can’t _ and  _ surprisingly _ \-- it wasn’t the end of the world. For the last week, you’ve held back (besides in combat training which suddenly got much more lethal thanks to your repressed infuriation). You hold your tongue with the callous comments, you grit your teeth and press down your fist, hell, you even _ smiled.  _ And as much as Levi would love to slap you silly with this new pacifist attitude, he  _ didn’t _ . Because he could see that you were trying to follow his command and you being obedient for once wasn’t a bad thing-- even if you did make sure to kick his ass during training. And for a little bit things were alright. Of course, you were more huffy than usual and much more prone to picking fights with officers who happened to have black hair, but this difference in your lifestyle wasn’t horrible. Things were  _ good _ . And now, they fractured before falling victim to the odious shadows of hatred which seeped from both your hearts. The burden of animosity laying heavy on your shoulders and tongue. 

“I  _ do _ my job,  _ Captain” _ your teeth are gritted, words muffled as if you’re hoping he won’t be able to catch them, “But it doesn’t always keep them alive” 

There’s no response and you scoff, rolling back your shoulders in faux amusement. You pause for a moment as if awaiting an apology or some form of remorse. You sigh again although this time it sounds more like a growl than anything else. With that, you’re storming out of the mess hall-- fists clenched and face knitted in a form of distasteful revulsion. Even with the upcoming battle, your loathing display of inimically, and the idea of you leaving the squad, Levi can only focus on the fact that you referred to him by his first name. 

█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃█

Eleven members of the Elite Vanguard died the following week. 

No one was overly surprised. Those who were familiar with the military regiment’s system knew that the Elite Vanguard was where they threw kids that showed a bit over average talent. Cadets straight out from the corps that showed more promise than the rest. But when it came down to it, they’re _ kids. _ Scared shitless the first time they see a titan and too overzealous to take orders from their commanding officer. They’re frozen in place, not racking up a single kill in battle. Their corpses adorn the fields, looking up to you with terrified eyes and empty expressions. The nostalgic smell of death weaves a throne of antagonism in which you rest your weary legs on. From your sovereignty you replay the deaths of each child you led again and again and again until you’re sick from the thought. Staying up all night in fear of vomiting only to break down the second first light breaches your face. Placing pressure on your wounds from the battle as if to chastise yourself for not dying with them. Scrubbing your face once, twice, six times in the morning when you blink too often and catch the sight of dried blood on your cheeks-- only to discover that it was your imagination all along. Dwelling over every tear of their parents and every sob of their siblings, feeling the slaps from the mothers and the gruff howling of their fathers. Being kicked down on their doorstep for failing to bring their children home. Their words echo in your ears. Perhaps they weren’t ready for war. Nor were they ready for your leadership. 

Levi Ackerman attended the funeral with the rest of the Special Operations . 

They were half expecting you to flop down next to them, crying on their shoulders and offering murmured apologies for your outburst. They wanted you to sit with them, flashing that faux smile that just barely convinced them you were all right. They wanted to make sure there were no other injuries besides the ones you acquired from the battle. They wanted to _ see _ you. 

But when they caught a glimpse of your frame, they began wishing that they didn’t.

Leaning against the back walls of the church, you’re dressed in your scouts uniform. Hair half-heartedly tied up with the appearance that you haven’t bathed in a week or two. Eyes low and dropped to your boots, hiding the heavy bags which dragged underneath them. Dirt caked your jawline, licking at your cheeks and palms. A new addition of a silver chain with a pair of wings almost seemed to burn your chest, sliding deeper and deeper into your flesh as each second passed. A cigarette hung limp from your lips (a guilty pleasure of yours, only taken when you were truly at your lows). You tossed your head back, nimble fingers raising to pluck out the cigarette-- allowing your lips to blow out billows of ash grey smoke as if mocking some higher power. Petra gasped loudly before bringing her hand to her mouth as her eyes dragged from beyond your face. For your neck was no longer covered with its usual bandages, skin exposed to the warm temperatures of the packed church. Two, dreadfully deep, horizontal cuts lapped at your flesh-- one scarred over with time and the other newly stitched and sewn. It was swollen and vermillion, blood seemingly pouring out of the staples and absorbing the metal in a sea of violence. Only to be washed away with the angle of your face. Another wound spanned from the midsection of your left cheek to the middle of the bridge of your nose, wet with bodily fluids and scarlet blood. Your knuckles tainted in a similar fashion, black and blue with bruises and cut down to the bone. You looked as if you had been ripped apart and put back together. Petra stifled a noise of lamentation before she caught your eye. You tilted your head before taking a long drag of your cigarette, exhaling the smoke as easily as you would breath. You allowed your lips to dip into a smile, acknowledging her with the slightest jerk of your hand. The soldier turned back in her pew. 

You didn’t speak to the Captain for two and a half weeks. 

Levi Ackerman should have been thrilled,  _ however _ , it’s a bit hard to be when you insist on becoming his sparring partner during training-- kicking his ass to kingdom come too many times for him to count. Your former knows that this is your own personal form of karma, his punishment for your reassignment. And it’s for that reason that the Captain pulls his punches and exaggerates his movements so you’ll see them coming. Not that he has too, injured or not, you're at par with his own usual combat skills. But he does this anyway, making it slightly easier for you to lay him out. You notice, Levi knows you do as your fighting style has become more consistent with his gentler movements and defensive advances. It’s his way of apologizing. His way of piecing together the trust between superior and officer. He wants his Lieutenant Commander back, you know that. And that’s why you risk rupturing the stitches on your neck, nose, and knuckles to knock him out. 

To say that your former is doing it for you is an exaggeration. He isn’t and wouldn’t for anyone else either. The Captain understands a simple fact which every soldier is familiar with-- trust within squadrons is pertinent. Without it, deaths on the battlefield would be tripled and movements on expeditions would be halted. As much as you and he didn’t get along, you both placed well-earned trust in one another’s abilities. Neither of you would ever outwardly admit it, but you would both immediately trust the other with your life, for that is simply the principles of a soldier and the virtues of man. It’s for this reason that Levi lets you get a couple jabs in and holds his tongue when you snap at him to quit pulling his punches. Without your confidence in him, the entirety of the Special Operations Squad will crumble quite literally. Therefore, although he refuses to verbally apologize, Levi will do what he has too in order to succeed against the titans. Even if that involves willingly spending time with you.

It’s in the better half of the third week when Levi finds pacing on the roof of the barracks. He watches from afar for a series of moments, eyes searing into your skin as you mutter crass language under your breath. Your bandages are nowhere to be seen and you don’t adorn your usual night time outfit of your scout uniform. Instead it’s one of Oluo’s baggy leisure pants which drop on the dips of your hips and bindings which lace your chest. Your hair is styled in its usual, gruff fashion-- falling to the sides of your face. He knew he would find you here. Even if the Captain wasn’t actively looking for you, you always seem to make your presence known. The air of your character is so suffocatingly  _ you _ . In fact, everything about you practically screams ‘bad idea!’ and rings echoes of barked comments in his ears. Levi scowls before walking over to you, daydreaming of turning back to his office and allowing the tension between you both to rise to a climax rather than fix it. 

“Need a light?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin, cigarette and lighter falling from your lips and clattering to the roof. You curse him under your breath before biting your tongue, looking up at him with tired eyes. His hand is outstretched, lighter flicked open and flame dancing upon the wick. It provides a small bubble of warmth in the cool night air. You pull another cigarette from your pants pocket, sticking it between your lips and leaning forward-- allowing it to ignite. You hum in appreciation as you inhale slowly before breathing out into the night air. 

“Thanks,” you gesture to your own lighter, “Piece of shit broke” 

Levi only nods in return turning to saddle up next to you, close enough for your shoulder to touch if you leaned over. At the present moment, your eyes are reflections of gratitude as you take another drag of your cigarette. There’s no malice or animosity, as if all your previous hatred could be dismissed with the single ignition of your poor habit. And perhaps it was in a sense. What Levi did was wrong, anyone could recognize that. But it’s a war. Everyone loses someone. Everyone watches someone die. Everyone has to deal with some militaristic bullshit. You’re not going to magically become friends with your former, but you’ll drop this grudge. After all, it’s been three weeks of kicking his ass-- his lesson should be learned. An unspoken apology transfers between you as you flash him a minuscule nod. His shoulder’s relax at the motion.. Your hands fish in your pocket before drawing out a pack. The Captain notes that there are five missing and frowns. 

“You smoke?” you shake the pack towards him, gesturing for him to take one himself. 

He huffs, “No I don’t” 

You shrug before scratching the back of your head. Your eyes are dropping now, dark bags highlighted underneath them. Your face swims in the dull light provided by your cigarette, bathing in and out of orange flickers. Your new scar has boiled over to the color of your skin, you trace a finger over it at the attention of your former’s eyes. He’s quick to recoil, snapping to your throat where the newer laceration hasn’t yet healed. You don’t touch this one, in fact your hand seems to stall anywhere near your neck. Levi is all too familiar with the motions of your hand. 

You take another long drag of your cigarette, smoke dripping from your lips. Your vision is trained to the stars in front of you. The night sky seems oblique now, painted with a steady yet un-imaginative hand of an artist. The silence is comfortable and so is the heat which burns your shoulder from your superior’s unwanted presence. Levi plucks the cigarette from your fingers when you drop your hand, shoving it between his own lips. You raise an eyebrow but make no movement to snatch it back. He shoots you a look and you can’t stifle your amused smile. 

Levi tilts his head to you, smoke billowing out in the air. “You should quit smoking” 

You laugh as he hands it back to you before lifting it to your mouth. “Yeah, I should” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I want to say thank you to everyone who has been reading/has read! It means so much to be to see your comments, kudos, and hits! I'm so happy that people enjoy my writing and it's my hope to continue this story with the same air as I started it. 
> 
> Secondly, to clarify the ending of the first section of this chapter is NOT meant to be taken in a romantic sense. I've had this happen with other fics before where people mistake the significance of a name for the relevancy of a crush. It's not in all at any sense meant to be taken romantically. Rather, I intend for it to show another tell of anger (I used all of my own tells for this fic so I apologize if it doesn't pertain to you) and a lack of judgment on what a character is saying. 
> 
> Also don't smoke or do drugs! I am not in any way trying to promote smoking or the use of drugs. It's simply meant to serve as another challenge and show a pattern of lifestyles in the AOT universe! For this fic, it is meant to be a coping method which will change over time (obviously cannot elaborate on this because spoilers but-), I promise that you, as reader, will not be a smoking addict. 
> 
> In addition to everything aforementioned, the apology segment may seem very unrealistic. Again, I tend to base the reader's personality on my own actions because I don't exactly know everyone else pettiness and reasons to accept apologies. In my personal life, I'm very quick to forgive especially when the situation is based on something as reasonable as war. If this is not you, I apologize but I simply cannot cater to a personality which I know nothing about. Growing up in a military family, it's my understanding that war calls for unwanted grievances and actions-- I tried by best to exemplify that here. 
> 
> Anyway thank you so much for reading!! All of your comments are lovely and I absolutely look forward to seeing them each and every time I update. As usual, feel free to comment your opinions, criticisms, etc! Thank you again!!
> 
> \- Ace :)


	6. [6] TALL, DARK, AND HANDSOME

_Perhaps if one stopped to think, one would realize that joy after battle is inhumane_. 

There are several parts of your personality which Levi Ackerman finds disagreeable.

Your attitude after a well-fought battle, however, wasn’t one of them. 

If there was a word to describe your presence in the cantina, it would be _radiant._ Although, for someone who had a large part in ensuring zero casualties, you’re humble. Sitting at the bar with a crowd of at least ten cadets, eight officers, and three higher-ups; you’re not retelling stories of rescue or tallying your kill count-- but egging on some poor kid to have a drinking contest with his Lieutenant Commander (one he wouldn’t win, Gunther and Oluo know that from experience). You’re not showing off your A-grade blades or aged scars, nor are you painting a picture where you stand as commandant-- the savior of the walls (this didn’t stop anyone from thinking so, but you yourself never acknowledged it). You’re behaving as normal, as if you _didn’t_ save ten lives today. You, _of course_ , take responsibility for your job well done yet you don’t believe it calls for a medal. It's for this reason that you brush the deed off with the flick of your wrist and a wholehearted laugh which nearly made the cadets (and many others) fall in love. 

The Captain almost found it endearing. 

He, and the rest of the Special Operations Squad, watched from afar as you ruffled a cadet’s hair before making some remark which made the entire group burst out in laughter. It’s no surprise that you’re famous in the cantina, savior or not, you’re the star of the show whenever you decide to get a drink. Nobody knew how or why it really happened, perhaps it was your notorious bar fights or maybe because you looked a little _too_ good in your scouts uniform, or even that your reputation as Mad Dog (and a war hero) precedes you. Whatever the case, soldiers everywhere were rushing to buy you a drink and get a chance to earn that wickedly, wolfish grin of yours. As far as your superior’s concerned, if they want your attention that badly then by all means they can have you-- after expressing that thought out loud, he got a good scolding from Petra. 

Prior to this night, she was pleased for a day or two, after she walked into Levi’s office only to find you sitting on his desk with the Captain himself in his chair. The soldier was thrilled to see that perhaps you both finally put your differences aside, _after_ _all_ both of you sitting less than three feet apart without trying to rip the other to shreds was a feat in itself. Petra was quick to excuse herself from the room before rushing to the others and spreading the news-- as far as she was concerned this was the best thing to happen all year. It was only a couple days later that she barged in (hoping to see you smile at each other or perhaps even laugh) that she caught a whiff of smoke. Levi Ackerman always has had an excellent poker face, yours however, needed work. After finding the pack of cigarettes which Levi had hidden from her and yelling your ears off about quitting, she stormed out of the room and slammed the door-- only to hesitate directly outside. Petra was expecting hushed giggling at being caught red-handed like cadets making out in a closet or maybe even some civil conversation but it was no surprise that she heard your rising voices as if you’re trying to out-do one another in a shouting match. Figures that the only way to keep you both cordial with one another was to stick something in your mouths. But this wasn’t the only disappointment she’s faced. There was the time in the Northern regions where you walked in wearing Levi’s coat (your cheeks were red from the bitter cold but Petra wished they were burning from something else). It only took one incredulous look from Uluo to set you off, shrugging off the coat and chucking it as hard as you could at your former. That deed enticed a snarky remark from Levi about it smelling which only ended up with you rearing for a fight, _per usual_. And then there was the time that the Captain helped you to the medical ward, holding your hand and everything-- Petra was ecstatic until she was informed that he was the one who created your injuries in the first place. Not to mention when she found him anxiously looking for you. Apparently her face betrayed too much of her hopes because Levi scowled before informing her that he needed you to fill out a report. Her former is never one to lie, that fact accompanied with his steeled eyes and countenance halted any further accusations from falling from Petra’s lips. 

You’ve probably drank about half the cantina by now, eyes half-lidded and head spinning. It took quite a lot for your mannerisms to truly show the effect which the alcohol took on you. You’re far from a lightweight, but with every soldier in the vicinity itching to buy you a drink-- it’s hard for you not to stumble when you stand. You’re not much of drinker, never had quite the taste for it but your quick to accept free alcohol-- especially with your tendencies to spend all of your own expenses on daggers, houseplants, and useless trinkets (the sheer amount of objects on your dresser was enough to put any compulsive shopper to shame). You’re in the middle of gesturing to some wild story when a rough hand lands on your shoulder, eliciting a wide grin. Eld snorts into his glass and Gunther can hardly stifle his scoff. It’s Thayer Miles, a high ranking garrison officer, who’s flashing that dangerously handsome smirk right at you. He’s a defensive fighter, seeing the inside of bar fights more than that of the battlefield. In an instant you’ve snapped to attention at his scrutiny, sitting up taller and dropping your head before shooting it back up again with your signature smile. Everybody knows Thayer Miles is a certified flirt. But you’ve caught his attention and oh _god_ , you love it. 

Petra shifts in her seat. You’re a hard person to read (the burden lessened when you drink) but right now your intentions are clear as day-- nearly as much as the heart eyes you’re flashing. She never took you as the romantic type, not that you necessarily are as your ideologies of charming someone usually involved a test of strength and a sly smirk which was more than enough to set Levi off on a tangent (not that these advances were ever directed towards him, however, it was close enough to your regular personality to be discounted as nothing out of the ordinary). In all honesty, you’re not one for the slick flirtations of others either. The attention on the other hand, is warmly welcomed. Petra knew this as much, the thought reflecting in the whites of your eyes. After turning to face him, you lean back on the bar, crossing your legs and tilting your head. He poses a question about carelessness, you snicker and flash him a look-- retorting back with something unintelligible. Levi can’t hold back his eye roll.

Thayer leans him, breath hot on your cheek and you tense. Petra knows this is the man’s first strike. There’s a set of unspoken rules which everyone can generally read with the pass of your expression. Touching and close contact was just one of them. Your lips formed a tight lipped grin as you pushed him back playfully, vexation fading as he offered to buy you a drink. The Special Operations Squad are placing bets now on how long you would last before your patience diminished, for there was one thing which you _didn’t_ know about Thayer Miles. 

He’s the type of guy to push your buttons. 

In a sense you remind Levi of Kenny Ackerman. Not such the optimist (although he couldn’t exactly judge), quick to anger, thin patience and a sharp-tongue. You’re short fused, stubborn, reckless, spitfire. However, in deep contrast to the older man, you lack a thin moral compass and desire for manipulation. Honestly, you’re a good soldier. Smart and witty with a good head rounded on your shoulders. You had the talent to keep your chin up in the worst of circumstances. Your determination is strong but your fighting spirit is stronger. 

Thayer Miles on the other hand is a go-lucky optimist. He’s well aware that this is infuriating, but every cloud has a silver lining, right? He would remind Levi of Hange if not for the air of superiority which hangs around his head. Not to mention the hand sliding across the bar to your forearm. Thayer is cocky (not the charming type in your opinion, Petra argues that cocky _isn’t_ attractive in any form-- you beg to differ) and his work ethic is quickly diminished with the promises of drinking and smoking which he can be found doing during most of his shifts. If you knew this little piece of information, Levi doubts you would be too apt to his affections. From what he’s heard from you (everything he’s learned has been against his will), those who don’t value their position with the utmost importance have little to no significance in your own life, they certainly have no position yapping your ear off about your own heroics.

You’re laughing now, smile sickeningly sweet. Whether you're ignoring the nimble fingers about to skate across your bicep or simply unaware of them, no one truly knows. There's a couple moments of hushed conversation between you two before your face falls. It flickers away as quick as it came but Eld is quick to take note and place his bet on your behavior. Strike two. 

“Five minutes” he declares, leaning back in his chair and lifting a brow to Gunther. 

The other man rolls his eyes and takes a swing of his drink. “She’s not _that_ impatient. I’ll give her fifteen” 

_“Fifteen?”_ It’s Oluo, snickering, “She’s punched Levi in less” 

The Captain opens his mouth to make a remark but gets cut off by Eld. 

“Yeah but that’s _Levi,”_ a pause and his former’s stone cold glare, “No offense, sir” 

A click of Levi’s tongue. Petra’s next to speak on the topic. 

“I think seven minutes is the maximum time before she snaps” 

“Seven? _Come on,_ guys, shouldn’t we have faith in our Lieutenant Commander?” 

“I _have_ faith in her,” Eld shifts in his chair, gesturing to Thayer, “Just not in her patience when dealing with assholes like Miles” 

Petra protests, ”He's not an asshole!” 

“You’re only saying that because he bought you dinner that one time” 

_“Oluo!”_ she flushes red, and her words become murmured “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone that” 

“Three minutes” It’s Levi, watching the tap of your fingers. 

After several pauses of initial shock, Gunther bursts out laughing. “The Captain would be the one to know” 

Although the others are arguably much closer to you than Captain Levi Ackerman-- one could easily say he knows you best. Despite not having courteous conversations with you, he knows your personality better than the back of his hand. Observing your speech pattern, the different passes of your character, each and every movement of your frame, when you smoke, how you eat, the twitch of your eyes when your angry, your fighting styles (all in the effort of not getting laid out), left him with a little _too much_ knowledge about you. Sure, he didn’t know what your favorite color is or the season which you favor most but he could read you like an open book-- something that professionals struggled with. 

Thayer is practically glued to your side now, dipping his head to box you in with his stature. You shoot him an incredulous look, lips forming a snarl. Eld snaps his eyes to his watch, crossing his fingers as if to strengthen your patience for another three minutes. But with the way you down your shot of whiskey before slamming it down on the bar-- the Levi Squad knows that that idea in itself is a pipe dream. You know you shouldn't start an argument. Another bar fight wouldn’t look excellent on your track record with the bartender either. But you’re tipsy and Thayer….

Thayer Miles said you’re not cut out for fighting. 

_“Eh?_ What the _fuck_ did you just say, Lieutenant?” 

Eld groans into his hands, “God I was so close! _So close!”_

“You all owe me a drink” Levi says this thought with the wave of his hand, leaving Gunther to curse him for knowing you so well. 

It doesn’t take you long to throw a punch, leaving Thayer stumbling back. The crowd around you is fast to form, cheering and jeering for both you and your opposition. Petra yelps with every stray hit landed on you but the rest of the members simply watch on in silence (besides the occasional jab at Thayer). They know well from experience that interfering with your fights will only give them a snapped comment and a push away. You're independent, more so when it came to combat. You desire a show of strength and your addiction to combat doesn’t exactly help the matter either. Oluo often wonders if the incessant tapping of your fingers most nights is withdrawal from the cigarettes or the fighting itself. 

█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃█

“It’s not my fault, _ok,”_ you shift in Levi’s arms, _“He said-”_

“You’re not cut out for fighting, _I know_ . You’ve said it _fifteen times_ since we left” 

“Yeah _well”_ you hiss in pain as your former shifts the hand around your waist “Thayer is a shit fighter” 

“You’ve said that too” 

“Have I?” 

Levi clicks his tongue. _“Yes,_ you have” 

“He’s just so... _so-”_

“Like you?” 

You scoff, _“Levi-”_

Despite his initial surprise at the use of his first name, he doesn’t miss a beat to reply in order to stall your rambling. “I know, _I know._ He’s a _shit fighter_ , an asshole, a showoff. You’ve _told me”_ The last bit of his sentence is growled, vexation clear in his words. 

The Captain shifts all of your weight onto his side and chest as his left hand fiddles with the infirmary door. You’ve told him numerous times that you can walk on your own, but the blood dripping from your skull doesn’t exactly create a convincing rebuttal. He isn’t quite sure how he got stuck with nursing duty (perhaps because the other members of the Special Operations squad aren’t too keen to get close to you when you're punchy) but he isn’t particularly thrilled about it. Especially when you won’t stop yammering on about Thayer. 

Watching his face scrunch in annoyance at your huffed out sigh, you roll your eyes. “You shouldn’t be so pissy, S _unshine._ You’re not the one with the concussion _and_ broken rib” 

Levi shoots you an incredulous look. “Oh yeah you’re right, I should be jumping for joy that for once in your goddamned life you didn’t hit _me”_ Both of your next phrases are spoken at the same time. 

“Did _the_ Captain Levi just make a joke?” 

“If you actually broke one of your ribs I’m going to finish what Thayer started” 

The door opens with a click. It doesn’t take long until you're sitting on a side counter, toe to toe with your former whos checking your head injuries. Originally he had simply chucked a wet rag at your face, confident that you’re sober enough to tend to your own wounds. Rather, he watched you miss your own skull a couple of times before he relented and began to help you. Neither of you are too pleased at this revelation but you hold your tongue-- he did walk you to the infirmary after all (whether or not it was by his choice was up for debate). Levi wrinkles his nose in disgust as you lick blood off your lip. 

“You’re disgusting” 

You look slightly offended and snort. “Could have wiped it on you. But I _didn’t_ so.. _.you’re welcome”_

Your knee is bouncing as Levi wiped blood out from atop your nose. Your fingers interlocked as you try to sit-still through the not so soft cleaning on the gash on top of your nose. Your eyelashes kiss your cheek, nostrils flaring as you exhale. You hiss in pain when Levi’s fingernail scraps into your cut. 

“You should stop getting in fights” 

“People should stop provoking me” 

He sighs, tilting your head back. You tense under his rough fingers gently gripping your cheeks and his breath on your cheeks. “Provoked or not, you didn’t have to deck him” 

“Oh?” his eyes snap to yours, fingers still burning your jaw, “What? Do you honestly think that someone else was going to fight for my honor?” 

_“Yes”_

“Who? _You?”_

His hands fall to your shirt hem, lifting it up above your chest. You raise a brow at his lack of response before wincing back at the tap of his palm against your ribs. The Captain studies your skin for a second longer before leaning up and dropping your shirt. He looks like his self-restraint has evaporated but it’s always hard to tell with him. 

“To be fair, Thayer threw a goddamned _chair_ at me-” 

“It’s not fractured, but it’s close to it” 

You sigh in relief at his words before rubbing the back of your neck. Levi steps back and leans against the wooden pillar behind him. Illuminated by the candles, he can just catch the outline of your features. Your smiling (well as much as you can with a split lip), eyes directed towards him like a cat. He’s done a fine job of patching you up, gauze on your knuckles, tape on your gashes, and an ice pack for your ribs. You hold back a comment about his becoming a nurse rather than a soldier, knowing that you would just end up with more injuries to treat. It’s quiet in the infirmary, just the two of you on the bottom floor. The muffled cheers and banter from outside leaks through the open windows accompanied by the warm night breeze. You slide off the counter and stick your head out the window, inhaling the sweet air. Levi follows in suit, watching you with gentle eyes. After a few moments, your gaze flickers back to him-- brows furrowed in what you assume to be concern. 

You chuckle, shifting your weight to lean against the window. “You should see the other guy” 

Levi clicks his tongue. “I have” 

“And?” 

“...And _what?”_

“Did I win?” 

You flash him your signature grin and he offers you a hand, scowling. You accept, sliding an arm around his shoulder as his hand accompanies your waist. You tilt your head to get a good look at his expression as you begin your walk to your quarters. You see a hint of a smile lick his lips before it’s drowned out with the absence of illumination. 

“No” 

_“No?!_ Bullshit!” 

“He hit you with a chair” 

_“Hit me_ ..hit me with a- _well yeah!_ But I kicked his ass!” 

“No, you didn’t”

“ _Eh?!_ You _piece of-”_

You didn’t punch officers with black hair after that night. Tall, dark, and handsome blondes were much more your speed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading everyone!! It's been a bit of a longer time since I've last posted but I've had quite a lot going on. And by that I mean debating on wether or not to write a Childe fan-fiction. Your comments have meant to much to me and it honestly makes my day each and every time that I see them!! You're all so sweet and amazing, it's much more praise than I deserve. So thank you again for reading and commenting.
> 
> Also, I do hope that this is not going to quickly as we're only on chapter. Even though theres several weeks between each chapter, I honestly am doing by best to create a slow-burn story. On another note (I know I always say this and then never deliver but-) I'm going to try my hand at writing a Valentines Day Special! I really will try to do it, but with school and whatnot I'm not sure if I'll be able to deliver. However, I'll try my hardest to get it out!!
> 
> Thank you again for reading and I do hope you are all enjoying the story so far! All of the kudos, bookmarks comments, and hits really do make my day! As always I encourage you all to leave comments, criticisms, and opinions down in the comments! Thank you so much for reading. Stay safe and healthy everyone!
> 
> \- Ace <3


	7. [7] DIVINE INTERVENTION

You’re not religious. 

So when Levi Ackerman hears you vehemently (and vulgarly) praying outside his door at three in the morning, he knows something is wrong. He plans on ignoring you, feigning sleep-- even if you can see the flickers of light from underneath his door. The Captain has no plans of playing _‘friend’_ with you tonight, even if your yapping kept him from doing anything productive before daybreak. The peace of his night would not be foiled by a woman such as yourself. Fate, _however,_ is an arrant knave. One which takes great pleasure in ruining your superior’s own peace of mind. Therefore, it’s only when you start pounding on his door (clearly with no intention of leaving him alone) that his patience begins to thin. You’re loud, _painfully so_ and it takes everything Levi has not to pull out his military issued handgun and empty the clip straight through the door. Your former is _begging_ a higher power that you’ll get tired of his lack of attention and move back to your room. Leave him to his own devices and retire to your nightly strolls around the barracks. But _you don’t_ and after ten minutes of incessant knocking and cussing (along with what sounded like you trying to kick down the door), Levi Ackerman swings it open with a sneer. 

He’s unfortunately greeted with the tired, yet cunningly arrogant appearance of his Lieutenant Commander. You stumble back at the sudden show of his force but stabilize yourself by leaning on the doorframe. That signature, godforsaken smirk of yours is burned on your lips along with a cigarette which falls limp, sliding between slim fingers. Your eyes are heavy, dark bags illuminated underneath them. The lambent motions of the golden light swims over your scars and freckles-- enlightening each and every feature of your countenance. Your hair is messier than usual as if you had just rolled out of bed. _Or_ gotten into a fight. Levi’s leaning towards the latter, knowing you. You're dressed in nothing but one of Eld’s ratty tee-shirts and boy shorts which the Captain dreads are also his squad mates (he doesn’t have to ask, you have a tendency of always wearing your friends clothing-- the boy shorts would be no different). Sharp canines pull into a victorious yet strained smile. He catches a flash of discomfort in your eyes before it’s mellowed over by the iron gate of your emotionless resting expression. You take a drag of your cigarette before speaking. 

“I thought I’d have to kick down the damn door before you answered” 

Levi ignores your comment, choosing to pluck the cigarette from your lips. “I told you to quit” 

You roll your eyes, blowing out a wisp of smoke. “You tell me a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I listen” 

A scoff. “I can tell” 

You pause and your former takes advantage of the silence. 

“What do you want?” It’s more of a demand than a question. 

A chuckle escapes parted lips, invoking an involuntary wince. You hope he doesn’t take notice. He does. He _always_ does. “You’ll be mad” 

Levi raises a brow, “Probably”

You pull your shirt just above your chest wrappings. Both his jaw and your cigarette crashes to the floor.

When Levi Ackerman retired to his quarters that night, he was not expecting his Lieutenant Commander to show up at his door with a set of shitty, _‘do-it-yourself’_ wound stitching, and a three-inch needle stuck in her stomach. Nor was he expecting you to rip out said needle and hand it to him after one too many of his impatient remarks (he has made sure not to say anything which would incite you to do something of that caliber again). This was one of those _(many)_ times where your superior wondered if you have any common sense in your body. He’s honestly dumbfounded that you’ve survived as long as you have, especially when you pull stunts like this once a week. In every respect, you’re an _idiot._ A spitfire, filled with good-intentions, imbecile-- who just happened to be the bane of Levi Ackerman’s existence. And most importantly, you’re _his_ responsibility. On any other night you would have scampered over to Petra or Gunther and begged for their help (although that wouldn’t be necessary as they would accept immediately, no questions asked). But it’s cadet training week, meaning that the only two officers located in the barracks were the only two officers with questionable morals and a penchant for anger issues. Therefore, Levi Ackerman was your only option, much to both of your disappointment. 

“You’re bleeding on my floor” 

“Gee, _really?_ I didn’t realize- _OF COURSE I’M FUCKING BLEEDING ON YOUR FLOOR!”_

A sneer. “Well, can you _stop?_ I just cleaned them” 

_“Can I_ … can I _stop?_ _Wow!_ Why didn’t I think of that! _Sure let me just-”_ you make a move to shove your hand on top of the wound but before you can, Levi catches your wrist-- deciding that a little _(a lot)_ of blood on his floor was better than the intestines of his Lieutenant Commander. He could just barely hold back a snarled retort. 

You’re pissed. Much more so than usual. Every comment seems to be glaringly sarcastic and every whimper of pain is swiftly covered up with a scoff. Tears threatened to fall down the curvature of your cheeks with every irritated gesture of your hands and on more than one occasion you would turn your head away to avoid him catching the tremble of your lips. Your eyes are wide, but not with acrimony nor with infuriation. Levi can pick up that much with a single glimpse. You’ve always hated how transparent you are when it comes to speaking with the Captain. How he can analyze each and every one of your intentions with a sole tap of your fingers or the shift of your weight. How it appears as if he can see your past, present, and future with just one knowing look into your own narrowed eyes. You’re not quite sure why he’s able to see through the various masks of yours but you’re mindful that he can. And with that softened look he’s giving you right now, you’re aware that he can peer straight through your current _‘begrudging asshole’_ act. It takes every inch of your sanity not to subside to pride and walk out of his quarters. 

“How the fuck did this even happen?” 

You hesitate for a moment, attempting to compose yourself enough to keep you from howling out in agony as skilled fingers prodded around your stitching. You’re sitting down now, the fine linens of his bed stained red with the occasional droplet of blood. The surrounding area didn’t look as you would have assumed. Filled with tiny mementos and fine oak furniture. The desk in the far left corner of the room is adorned with masses of paperwork and bottles of ink. Jackets strung over chairs and boots placed neatly before the foot of the bed. Blades hung proudly above the bed itself, just within reach if one bolted up. A bookshelf next to the window, decorated with countless volumes of his favorite writing. A framed sketch of the squad before you joined was angled towards his chair. A twinge of jealously flicked against your heart-strings, although you knew the reaction to be fruitless. However, you couldn’t help ponder if he (or even the remainder of your squad mates) considered you to be a member of their little family. Perhaps you were nothing but an outsider. A pull of your stitches snaps you back to reality and you offer your former a harsh look. Levi, crouched in front of you, raised his face to your knee in anticipation of your answer to his previous question-- chin just barely scraping your skin. He appears almost as if he’s bored, disinterest written across his features, that idea in itself brightens your spirits at how positively ridiculous it would be. Despite current circumstances you manage a half-hearted grin. 

“Well, I was training with my blades and I-”

The Captain cuts you off with a sigh and the exaggerated closing of his eyes. “Nevermind. Forget I asked” 

You laugh, brushing off the pain that accompanies it with the slight twitch of your fingers. “No, it’s a good story. _Really,_ you’ll like it” 

“I don’t think I will” 

_“You will._ So I accidentally sliced-” 

Blood-soaked fingertips push into your cheeks as Levi places his palm over your mouth. The action in itself is so gentle, so feather-light as if he’s afraid to hurt you any further. As if one rash movement will shatter you like glass. He’s always been like this whenever he plays doctor (whether it’s stitching you up or reprimanding you for coughing during training). The contrast is so extreme when compared to his usual gruff and aggressive style-- your right wrist nearly has phantom aches from how many times he’s gripped it with an iron hold. It’s kind, familiar, comforting. It reminds you of Ragako. Of shared cigarettes and fighting side by side. It reminds you both that Captain and Lieutenant Commander can co-exist. But the gesture itself becomes unacknowledged with the roll of your eyes and the barked out comment from your former. 

_“Please,_ just shut up” 

He removes his hand and you raise a brow. “What? Only like my stories when it involves getting my ass kicked by somebody else?” 

Levi chuckles, and perhaps you would teased him about it, but before you can he begins pulling out one of your stitches. A muttered swear leaves clenched teeth, your hands ripping at his sheets. You catch a whisper of a smile at your lack of quip before it’s hastily taken over by his usual, grave expression. There’s a flutter of concern in his eyes and during any other occasion you would have jumped at the chance to make some vexing retort about this show of emotion, but now you’re too preoccupied with biting down on your tongue. You’ve always prided yourself on having a high pain tolerance but it’s in this moment which the Captain realizes-- _you don’t have one_ . You’re a good actress, smothering yelps of torment with a hissed out sigh and sucking in your cheeks to keep you from kneeing him in the face. Hiding the tears with the angle of your jaw and laughing humorlessly every time his fingers make the mistake of lingering over your injury. To say the least, this show of faux strength is pitiful but Levi holds his tongue-- knowing that one stray comment about it will only toss him into a fight, one which you wouldn’t back down from, even if you _are_ injured. 

The low humming of your superior mixed with the squelching of your flesh is enough to make your silence unbearable. The smell of blood is pungent but it’s something you're used to. In earlier years, perhaps, it would have snapped you back to the battlefield. _Now,_ however, you’re accustomed to it as if it’s nothing but a morning cup of coffee or an afternoon training session. How inhumane. How _cruel._ A younger you would deem it unfair, but you recognize now that war is not fair nor will it ever _become_ fair. You’re a soldier, a weapon and it’s best that you don’t forget it. After all, would you use a gun for peaceful negotiations? 

Your eyes dart back to the sketch on the book shelf. Petra will be thrilled when you tell her about this little escapade (and _pissed_ , older sister instincts conquering her joy of hearing about you and Levi getting along for once). You bet that if she was currently present in the barracks, she would be right outside the door, ear pressed up against it-- trying to listen in on each and every exchange passed between you and your former. Not that being caught inside your commanding officer’s quarters in the dead of night would necessarily be a _good thing._ Fraternization, by all counts, is strictly prohibited throughout all three of the regiments. Although it isn’t quite a frequent issue within the Scouts or Garrison and more centralized within the Military Police-- legislation applies strict rules which _all_ soldiers must comply with if they wish to serve. From sleeping with a higher-up to get a promotion the next day, true romances which are by all means forbidden, to ugly abuses of power, the panel of military overseers hold no leniency over the matter. Not that it concerns you or Levi, as it would be hard to label the both of you even as friends. But there was always the fear of a misconception. An officer seeing something that _just_ wasn’t there. 

“Why am I the one always patching you up?” The Captain says this through clenched teeth, tongue caught between them in complete and absolute fixation of his work. His words themselves are less of a question than a statement but it gives you an opportunity to interrupt the awful silence in the air— an opportunity which you’re more than grateful for. 

After a moment or two of continued silence, Levi looks up, hoping that you didn’t pass out from the pain (or outright die, he wouldn’t put it past you). The sight he sees is both odd and unexpected. Your lips are pulled into a weak smile which is reflected in your eyes. Leaned back on the bed, your hair falls behind you— leaving the details of your expression to be highlighted by the light of his lamps. In this domestic-esque illumination, you look less like a soldier. Not completely, however. Your former is convinced that war is bred in your veins, being a soldier was something that could never be pried from your grip. Battle flows in your blood and pumps into your heart-- your soul reason for existence. War Dog appears as more of a fitting nickname than Mad Dog or Stray. Your blood feels heavy on his hands, staining his white blouse and ivory sheets. The exchange between the two of you is painfully private. Nearly domiciliary. Your eyes flutter shut before snapping to his own. 

_“Fate_. Don’t you think, Levi?”

Even if your superior _wasn’t_ looking at you, he would be able to tell that that minuscule upturn of your complexion was overruled by a smug smirk. He clicks his tongue before relinquishing his stare back to your injury, pulling out the last stitch in one fluid motion. You jerk forward, a muffled scream resounding in your throat. The skin around your horrid medical expertise is swollen and discolored, large gaping holes from where your needle poked through. It’s commendable that you remained awake from both your own ministrations and his. He might just buy you a drink if you stayed awake during his stitching. 

“You call showing up to my quarters at three in the goddamn morning with a needle in your stomach _fate_?” Levi grumbles, pressing a wet cloth to the surrounding skin. You're quick to tense, a hissed out laugh sliding off your tongue. 

“Divine- _OW FUCK_ ,” you catch the slightest upturn on his lips and you huff “Intervention” 

The Captain chuckles. “Divine intervention my ass” 

█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃▆▃█▃█

The following day, you’re up on your feet as if nothing happened. Signature grin, standard uniform, customary bandages on your neck and forearms-- you’re back to normal. Upon further inspection, one would be able to catch the stiffening of your muscles whenever you inhaled too deeply and the muffled yelps when one of your squad mates would hit you a little too hard. You know you shouldn’t be training. Levi knows it too. And the rest of the Special Operations squad are quick to pick up on your fatigued fighting style and less than adequate dodging. But they don’t mention it. Instead they pull their punches and make it slightly easier for you to spot their movements. On any other occasion you snap at them for going easy, but you know that will only bring your injury to light-- and then they’d make sure that you didn’t train at all. 

Fighting is wrought in your blood. To skip training for a single day would be as if you skipped smoking for a week. It would make your skin itch, your limbs become antsy, your mindset on edge, you’d become paranoid even. Combat, in every sense, is just as much an addiction as the cigarettes. To you it holds the same importance as oxygen. Water. Food. You _need_ it to survive. It’s unhealthy, a violent outcome to an upbringing based on militaristic ideals and a lack of emotional honesty. The wrath of god and the uncontrollable fires of hell. The perfect soldier with a knack for conflict. You lived and breathed off of melee. 

And yet, you don’t have the personality of a war-dependant soldier. 

When the prospect of sparring with the small group of hand-picked cadets which the other’s brought back is announced (as part of the training program, some higher-up officers take on apprentices-- including both you and Levi), you jump at the chance. The cadets are nervous. Unbeknownst to you, you have garnered quite the reputation. Lieutenant Commander Mad Dog is a popular name within the barracks, not as famous as ‘humanity's strongest soldier’ but close enough. You’re known for your fighting spirit, various scuffles, and above all else-- your skill on the battlefield. It’s enough to cause any cadet to attempt to catch your attention with the off-chance that you might pick them as your apprentice. Engaging in a combatal test, two on one with you, however, wasn’t exactly what they were expecting. 

You’re ruthless during the matches. Despite being injured, you’re quick on your feet, able to take down both cadets in a matter of minutes. The difference in skill between you and the kids is painfully apparent. Even with your hostility, you’re mindful not to injure any of the cadets. Your advances are more on the defensive. Of course, there's the occasional soft jab and offensive tactic, but you’re more than careful not to go all out. Eld saddles up to Levi’s side as you swipe the legs out from a young brunette. 

“She’s good” 

The Captain gestures to your stomach, your uniform is slightly undone now-- the bandages he placed the previous night easily able to be seen. “She’s _injured”_

Eld shrugs his shoulders, gaze flickering back to you. You’ve got a blonde locked in a head-lock now, but not tight enough to block the air from his throat. The cadets on the sideline cheer as you gently push him out of the makeshift ring, indicating that the next pair would be up. “She’s reckless” 

Levi grumbles. “You’re telling me” 

You catch a girl’s fist. Another cheer. 

“Reminds me of you”

The Captain clicks his tongue. _Eld’s right._

Levi must have hit his head this morning because for a second, he didn’t think that was so bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when I said I'd write a Valentine's Day Special-- well surprisingly enough, I did. In fact I wrote an entire, three-thousand plus word chapter the night beforehand and decided I'd edit it the next morning. I woke up, read it, and then immediately scrapped it. Holy shit, I don't know what the hell I was on when I wrote that but jesus fucking christ was it bad. Anyway, take this instead I'm very pleased with how it came out. I rewrote each and every portion so many times that I could probably read through this with my eyes closed. I'm not positive I did Levi justice, however, so I'd love to hear opinions on that. I do hope I haven't been making him OOC.
> 
> Anyway thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and hits! It means so much to see that my fic has actually gotten attention-- because, wow, I never saw that coming. All of your comments are so kind and I honestly look forward to seeing each and everyone of your opinions after posting. Per usual, feel free to comment your opinions, criticisms, and other such remarks. I hope you're all happy and healthy!! Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> \- Ace <333


	8. [8] HOME SWEET HOME

Traveling back to Ragako for a reconnaissance mission should have been something anticipated. 

Something which you _should_ have expected. But against your better judgement, you _didn’t_. 

Ragako is home sweet home. You grew up there, a close knit family and days under the Southern sun. It reminds you of the smell of lavender, the color yellow, the feeling of cold sheets after getting sunburnt. It holds both the fond memories of your childhood and the less pleasant, familial memories of your youth. In short, you had no desire to return to Ragako. Especially with your measly title of Lieutenant Commander, your bottom of the class cadet apprentice-- Atticus Abner, and the entirety of the Special Operations squad and their respective apprentices as well (not that this was a particular issue as the entire squad had only three; Atticus, Casidora, and Sebastian). 

Petra knew something off when she spotted you outside the barracks the previous night before your departure, cigarette in hand. You’ve recently been working hard to quit (much to the delight of Levi and Petra), only truly indulging yourself at extreme lows. But family is a touchy subject for you. If the more fatal scars across your chest and neck were sacred, then family was a topic which others shouldn’t dare to even _think_ about. The officer remembers your expression, warped in an agonizing lament. The thick of tears dripping down your chin, nearly putting out the cigarette. The way you wiped the underside of your eyes with the back of your hand. How, in a sudden burst of anger, you nearly punched through the wall. Various cuss words sliding off your lips as easily as the smoke. The way your hands smothered your expression before you straightened up, took one last drag of your cigarette, and promptly walked away. Emotionless. Nonchalant. Empty. _The perfect soldier._

Petra didn’t bring it up, especially when you seemed to be in improved spirits the following morning-- ruffling Atticus’s hair and play fighting with him as an older sibling would. You made sure to smile brighter than usual and made an effort to look refreshed. Underneath that go-lucky, carefree, and supposedly emotionally opened facade, Petra is able to catch flickers of a hollow soul in your eyes. Drifting solemnly by before snapping out of place, replaced with another mask. You didn’t talk about going home. Petra didn’t ask. 

The other’s held their tongue as well. After Atticus asked if you were happy to be seeing your family (to which you curtly nodded and replied “Of course” with a thin-lipped smile), the older members of the squad recognized that the topic was not up for discussion nor small talk. Asides from your unexpected silence, you look different. Hair unusually tamed and styled in an unfamiliar way, almost as if it was made to appear as if you weren’t yourself. There were more bandages licking your skin, making it nearly impossible to spot a sliver of flesh. Your uniform was more formalized, tucked into your pants and buttoned all the way to your collar (you usually had the left side untucked and several buttons unbuttoned, this look was extremely bizarre for you). In more ways than one, you appeared as feminine as you possibly could. Even your smile changed to something less arrogant and conniving. In every respect, you were no longer Mad Dog. 

Growing up was tough for you. You weren’t in a situation which even compared to Levi’s nor were you in a home where you felt unsafe. By all means, you’re considered lucky. Able to flourish in a house under the guidance of a mother and father and become a successful young woman. Underneath the bittersweet lies and chidings of _‘you have nothing to complain about’_ , there’s anguish and anger. Remorse and hidden cries. To be perfectly clear, your parents were neither abusive nor ethically incorrect in any way, shape, or form. They simply strived for their dream daughter. A soldier who persevered against all others. _The best of the best._

Thin morals were easily found within your family dynamic, however. Your parents, no matter how kind and caring, are not necessarily good caretakers. In your house you weren’t allowed to cry nor were you permitted to express negative emotions on any such thing without heavy reprimand. _Suck it up._ _Suck it up, kiddo. You’re a soldier, aren’t you? Are you really going to cry like a brat? You should be ashamed of yourself._ Much of your childhood and youth got you used to the circulation cutting grip of your wrists from your mother and the disappointed scoffs from your father. The shattering of silverware after a particularly nasty fight and the silent anger. The unspoken apologies and offers of peace in the form of a meal or walk outside. The nights where you would take a stroll by the river and laugh as if nothing ever happened. Good and bad times. The yin and yang burned into your very being. _You have nothing to cry about. Fucking ungrateful. Why can’t you see that we love you? This is all for you! How about your favorite meal tonight? A walk by the field?_ Now, apart from your youth, you can recognize the emotional manipulation of your parents. Not that this mattered. The effects have well sunken in, allowing you to become emotionally closed off and quicker to anger than others. All those years gave you a penchant for violence and yet, an overall optimistic personality. A dependence on war and the demeanor of one brought up among the kindest of people. 

Your parents are cruel. Selfish even. _Manipulators._ But you could never bring yourself to hate them nor feel any purely negative emotion at all. Underneath all of the strict control and fighting, there were good times and recollections which brought a smile to your lips. No matter how wrong they may be, they’re your family. Your flesh and blood. They did it for you, they thought what they were doing was right. Militaristic ideals and an iron-fist control over you produced one of the best officers of the century. _Just like they wanted._ Part of you abhorred both them and everything about your past. You wanted to cut them off, pretend as if they never existed in the first place. Act as if they never had a single effect on you. But can you cry without feeling weak? Can you take down every damn wall which they forced you to build for one single second? Can you show a flicker of true remorse without your ‘thick-skinned’ nature washing over yourself? Can you forget every joke your dad made and every flower your mother picked for you? Can you erase the way your father would spar with you in the hot summer nights and the smell of your mother’s cooking? Can you take away the memories of them lying in your bed with you when you broke-down or of them narrating fantasies of another world on the front porch? Could you bring yourself to truly ostracize them? 

_No,_ you couldn’t. But that doesn’t mean you had to please them either. As if something snapped in your composure, you’re suddenly scowling. Your squadmates, as well as the cadets, watch you intently as you rip your hair out of it’s previous style, ruffling it with your hands. Your fingers quickly slid down to your blouse, undoing the top three buttons before untucking your shirt from your pants. They then rubbed your eyes, smearing the feminine-esque makeup across your face. At the reflection of your unruly and usual appearance in the carriage window, your customary smirk stretched across your lips before you deflated in relief and a sense of comfortability. You’re your parent’s daughter. But you’re something more than that as well. Something more than a war-trodden and emotionally stunted woman. You’re _you._ And that’s something that no one could take away from you. 

Eld tapped twice on your hand. His touch was warm and comforting. The familiarity of an older brother figure drowning out your earlier sorrows. You nodded briefly, allowing him to clutch your hand and give it a firm squeeze. Eld always taps twice. It’s a silent language, acknowledging when and where it’s acceptable to touch you. You’re not an affectionate nor touchy person. You prefer to keep your hands to yourself (in all other scenarios other than combat) and tend to become greatly uncomfortable when others lay their hands on you. It’s for this reason that Eld, and the others, tap twice. Based on your reaction they’ll either continue or fall back. It’s in this moment, where Eld’s fingers and intertwined with yours, that you realize that families aren’t all awful. You recall the sketch on Levi’s bookcase and smile. Your previous question from the other night is answered. 

The village of Ragako is on the smaller-side. Each and every neighbor knows one another as if they were family themselves. The houses are close-together, packed to the brim with brush and vegetation. A large field lies to the West, a single willow-tree sitting on top a slight hill behind your house. The trees shadowed over the dirt roads as sunlight glinted over the leaves. Ragako is so dreadfully beautiful. Yet, a piece of you wanted to turn back now and run as fast as you can back to the walls. You didn’t. You couldn’t. You weren’t raised a coward. 

Upon arriving in the main streets of the village, everyone is out on their porches. You and the rest of your company are on horse-back (you departed the carriage before arriving at Wall Rose), illuminated in a golden haze by the setting sun. In the eyes of the youth, you look like angels. In the gaze of the adults, devils. You easily spot your mother and father despite the hustle and bustle of your age-old friends and neighbors. They’re gently smiling, waving to you at the far back of the crowd. You allow a small smile to creep up onto your lips. It’s been a while. After hopping off and tying up your horse on the closet post, you hesitate. There’s a fear in your chest which differs greatly from that of the battle-field or waiting at the end of a friend’s hospital bed. A double tap on your palm to which you nod. Hand and hand with Eld, the rest of the members behind you-- you make your way to your family. 

Besides them stands Mr. and Mrs. Springer, your godparents, and their eleven year old son, Connie. The boy is practically jumping out of his boots, nudging his father and uttering whispered questions. He’s matured. Much more built and healthy than you recalled. The teen is still oozing the same excitement from his younger years and his eyes reflect the same shine which you remember from your last visit. Your mother is standing tall, eyes washing over your stature. Her lips pulled into a distasteful frown and you can imagine what she’ll say about your attire later on. _Did you have to wear your uniform like that? Do you have any respect for yourself?_ She’s aged, roots of her hair fraying a bleach white. Her eyes are heavy, skin flushed from the hot sun. But she's the same as she’s always been. A teacher. _Judgmental._ Caring. Her eyes flicker to your hands, immediately eyeing Eld with a pleased countenance. On the other hand, your father has his hands knitted behind his back. His eyes are kind, expression a mix between overwhelming happiness and stone-cold neutrality. He’s wearing his aged military police jacket, the Admiral’s pin proudly displayed on his collar. You salute before bowing, he mimics you. Bringing up a hand to rustle your hair, he shoves your shoulder. He looks tired. It’s been a long time. 

After getting the lengthy introductions out of the way (and explaining to your disappointed mother that, _no,_ you and Eld are not together), you’re all sitting down in the dining room-- barely enough room for each member. You’re practically sitting on Connie and Atticus’s lap, one of your thighs resting on top of the cadets. Your mother insisted that Levi sits between her and your father, she’s taken favor of him due to his high ranking and surprisingly polite manners. Petra is seated next to Oluo and your father, who has taken to her as if she’s one of the family. To the right of your mother is Gunther and next to him are the Springers. Eld, Casidora, and Sebastian are all seated accordingly to the aforementioned placements. The dining room is tightly-packed and sweltering with heat but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It’s about halfway through dinner that your mother starts her antics. _“Puppy,”_ Gunther nearly spits out his beer at the nickname, “You still haven’t found a significant other?” 

You roll your eyes, leaning back and shrugging your arms around the two boys next to you. Connie flushes red while Atticus only laughs. Your mother raises a brow, looking to your father for help but he’s too engaged in cutting his meat to pay any mind. You take a swing of your beer, pressing Atticus’s head to your shoulder. He grumbles at your actions, but you ignore him. Your father’s lips curve into a smile, pleased at your sibling-like relationship with the boy. It’s something surprising to see after the loss of your younger brother. 

“No, Ma. I haven’t found anybody” 

Your mother wrinkles her nose. “I would think that a woman of your age-” 

You burst out laughing. _“My age?!_ What am I seventy? Twenty-eight is not an age to be worrying about marriage, _woman._ I don’t even _want_ to marry _”_

She scowls, muttering something about what an early age she was married at before gesturing to Eld-- fork hanging out of his mouth and a dopey look on his face. “What about Eld? You too seem close” 

Your squadmate nearly chokes on his food with laughter before you, yourself, and your other friends do the same. You snort, leaning across the table earning a glare from your mother. _Poor table manners_ she’ll say. You jab your thumb to Eld who’s barely recovering from just how humorous he finds the situation. “Out of everyone here you pick Eld? The man I’m _least_ likely to find romantically attractive?” 

_“Oi!_ That’s not true! Remember that one time-” 

Petra and the others peak up at Eld’s smug smirk, stare boring a hole into your head. You flush vermillion almost immediately before waving him off with the slight of your hand. “No, I _don’t_ remember. I don’t think you remember either” 

He flashes you an incredulous look. The soldier knows he’ll be in for it later and with that expression you’re shooting him-- he doubts he’ll survive dinner. “I don’t think you’d forget our _extremely_ passionate, romantic kiss-” 

Levi almost chokes on his beer, coughing at his comrade’s words. The entire table is in uproar, laughing, cheering, and smacking the table. Even your mother is chuckling, shooting you a look which basically spells out _“I’m right”._ Atticus is shaking your shoulder as he snickers, saying how proud he is that you and Eld finally shared your relationship. Mrs. Springer has her hand on Eld’s shoulder, cheeks flushed with laughter. 

“You’re over exaggerating” 

“But you admit it happened” he wiggles a finger in your face and your cheeks burn with the force of the mid-afternoon sun. 

“It was an accident! And you know it!” 

Casidora wheezes, “How do you kiss someone _by accident?!”_

Against your better judgement, you jump to your own defense. “I was _trying_ to kiss him on the cheek but the _bastard_ turned his head!” 

_“Nah_ , don’t listen to her. She planned it,” Eld clutches his hand over his heart, “We’re destined to be!” 

You chuck your napkin as hard as you can at the man, nailing him on the face. Your father leans back in his chair, chuckling. It’s been awhile since you’ve been home. And an ever longer time since an atmosphere like this has been present. It’s light-hearted and carefree. Perhaps more than anyone the Admiral understands the toll which war takes on others. This was a rare moment, one that even he did not receive often during his own service. You all remind him of children. Teasing and carrying on as if in two days you didn’t have to scout the surrounding areas beyond the wall. His eyes flicker over to you, still red in the face but snorting into your food. You remind him so vividly of himself. Spitfire. A ruthless and good soldier. He’s proud of you, more than you’ll ever know. You lock his gaze for a moment before offering him a grin and turning back to your friends. Despite seeing the horrors of war, you’re so youthful. He has missed you so much. 

“And what about you, Captain? Are you engaged?” you mother pries, speaking over the ruckus. 

“No, ma’am” 

Her eyes are kind. “Any significant others?” 

“Also no, ma’am” Levi takes a swing of his beer. 

“Ah, wonderful! You and my daughter are perfect for one another!” 

This time Levi Ackerman really did choke on his beer, nearly spitting it out all over the table. Your reaction is similar, head almost slamming into the table at the double-take at your mother’s words. The others laugh so hard you’re afraid the neighbors will begin to complain, tears slipping from the corner of their eyes. The idea in itself is so absurd that you can’t help but crack a smile. Your superior meets your ducked, amused countenance with one of his own. Surprisingly enough, you raise your head and grab his hand from across the table-- intertwining your fingers. The gesture surprises him enough to leave his mouth open, Sebastian (who also happens to be his apprentice) makes an offhand comment about flies making a home in his mouth. Petra nearly falls out of her chair. 

“It’s fate!” you declare, unable to contain the giggles in your throat, “We’re meant to be, Sunshine!” 

Levi snatches his hand from your own, poorly attempting to hide his grin as you lunge across the table trying to grab it back. Your mother, smiling as if she just won the lottery, shoots you a knowing look. “Puppy _has_ always loved others with black hair. I remember she had the _biggest crush_ on this one boy from the next village over. _Actually…_ he looked a lot like you!” 

Your eyes snapped wide as Atticus nearly fell off his chair, clutching his ribs. _“Mom!_ Stop talking!” 

She waved you off. Levi leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Just like me, huh?”

You kicked him hard under the table, sucking in your cheeks in an attempt to cover up the embarrassed upturn of your lips. “Shut up” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! Make sure to read this in order to avoid confusion! 
> 
> First and foremost, thank you all so much for reading, bookmarking, giving kudos, and commenting!! I never in a million years thought this would get so much attention, it really means so much!! You're all too kind for me, I honestly am so flattered. 
> 
> Anyway! Just some quick clarification points because my writing could portray something I do not intend to portray. Firstly, as you're all (painfully) aware, reader is essentially, in essence; me. Therefore, yes, my familial situation is very similar as to what is written in this fic (can you tell I have mommy issues, just kidding don't answer that). I do not, in any form, intend to portray any type of manipulation in a positive light, I just wanted to write a backstory for reader and I thought that this form of family was fitting! I think I made it clear that I do not support any familial dynamic like the one written but just in case I didn't; I do not. Secondly, the interactions between Eld and reader are not supposed to be taken as romantic (more of a brotherly, friendship way) and neither are the interactions between Levi and reader! They're not flirting, I promise (you're welcome to interpret however you wish), it's more of a teasing, friendship way. This is a serious slowburn, I apologize in advance. 
> 
> Beyond all that stuff, I plan on writing one or two more chapters about their time in Ragako. Here I'll delve more in the reader's relationship with her brother who passed, what exactly happened, and more about the family life. Not only this but I want to explore some more of the squad's relationships as well as the apprentices which I only mentioned this chapter (Atticus, Casidora, and Sebastian) and even Connie and the reader's relationship!! I finally have so much inspiration for these upcoming chapters and I am so pleased about how this chapter came out!! So expect some more chapters coming soon (as in really soon)!! 
> 
> Per usual, thank you all so much for reading. It means more than anything to me to see that people are enjoying this fic!! Your support is endless and just know that I adore each and every one of you! Feel free to comment your opinions, criticisms, chapter ideas for me of course, and anything which comes to mind. Thank you so much for reading!! Stay happy and healthy!
> 
> P.S here’s my carrd if u feel like checking out any of my other accounts, wanna to know something more about me other than i have mommy issues, etc!! https://ak2tagawa.carrd.co/
> 
> \- Ace <33


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